Black, Black Heart
by Lorien Urbani
Summary: She came to him as a vision from the past, but instead of letting her torment him for the things that were, he will torment her, punish her, break her, and scare her. But soon, he realizes his plan has a flaw. Is it possible to scare Crane?
1. Chapter 1

Credits for the title of this story go to David Usher and his song Black, Black Heart.

This story is going to follow a dark, destructive "relationship" between Dr Crane and a new nurse at Arkham. Don't consider it a romance. It's not love. It's something darker. And it's lurking behind their backs...

I named my character Pearl after the subject of the song _Siren Song_ by Bat for Lashes. The character of **Dr Crane** is based on Cillian Murphy's portrayal of the character in Chris Nolan's movie _Batman Begins_ and on the _New Earth_ story arc.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Dr Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow or any other DC Comics characters that might, or may not, appear in this story. Pearl Jones is my character. This particular story belongs to me.

Bear in mind the fact that the first chapter may not always be the most interesting thing on the planet, but things always get exciting afterwards. Lorien Urbani

* * *

**CHAPTER 1**

A new job and a new city usually meant a new beginning. Everything became new; the streets, the friends, even the habits and consequently, one's own life. The bitterness of the previous life would evaporate and welcome the sweetness and expectations of the new one.

Supposedly.

To Pearl, it felt as if she had returned to the past. She had not walked the polluted streets and the deserted parks of Gotham for a full decade, but the city still felt incredibly, almost disturbingly familiar. Before her coming back here, she thought she was going to start afresh, but now she saw that in reality, what she was really going to do was to pick up the threads of her old life. Perhaps, that was why she chose to return in the first place. She could not really call Gotham home, but it felt good, like a warm, fuzzy sweater against cold skin. The absence of any change was very welcoming. Gotham had not changed one bit; even its scent had stayed the same. The black fumes of crime were looming above the city, but even that was old news.

She realized that leaving Sacramento, her home for the last decade, was the easiest thing she had ever done in her life. Everyone she had ever cared about was gone and they had all lived in Sacramento, once upon a happier time. It was in Gotham that her life began, and where she spent the first fourteen years of her life. Although no one she knew, no one she loved, lived in the city anymore, she was happy to be back. The city welcomed her; it was one of the unspoken truths that Gotham stayed in your blood, no matter where you went or who you decided to become.

It was easy to buy an already furnished apartment in a pretty respectable part of the city. Her inheritance money had made her quite a wealthy woman, so she could actually afford buying a place to stay, not just renting one. However, she was not one to spend her days living on her inheritance. She had big plans for her future. For one, she would finally go to medical school and become a doctor herself. She loved being a nurse, but she craved for more. She had always dreamed of having her own, cosy little office and help people in need. She had always wanted to become a psychiatrist. She put her dreams aside for the sake of her family, and she had gotten really used to and content with her life, but she knew she had to move on and make her dreams a reality. If not for herself, then for him. He would have wanted her to do it, to be happy and finally fully content. It was his last wish he said aloud.

She stroked the wedding band on the fourth finger of her left hand with gentle affection and took a deep breath.

"I guess this is it, Dom," she said to her wedding band and looked through the driver's window of her 1991 dark blue Toyota Tercel. It was not the best of cars, and she could buy herself a prettier, and foremost, a better vehicle, but she loved her old car. Old was good; not everything had to be new. She, somehow, wanted to keep a part of the other city by her side, one way or another.

Her gaze lingered on the impressive building across the parking lot. Her new working place, the _Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane_. She could still hardly believe that she got the job. Every time she remembered her interview with the cold, arrogant, clearly self-important head of the asylum, she shuddered inwardly. The interview felt closer to an inquisition and an intellectual battle combined, and afterwards, she actually hoped she would never be called back. But she was, by the head himself, and she supposed for a second that she should have felt grateful that the famed Dr Jonathan Crane took his precious time to tell her himself how he deemed her "appropriate to join the staff", but she still resented him for saying that "after all, on such a short notice, we cannot, in all honesty, afford to be all picky and finicky." Apparently, they were often understaffed in Arkham; the majority of nurses did not have the nerves to feed pills to such dangerous specimens of humanity, as most of the inmates were criminals with unusual medical conditions that prevented them from staying in regular prisons. Their latest gem was the notorious serial killer Victor Zsasz. She had never been around a serial killer before, and now she would most probably see Zsasz at one point.

Pearl Jones, however, was not afraid. She was not indifferent, but she saw her new job as a great opportunity. Even though some things frightened her, she would not let them get to her. She almost felt as if she were on some kind of mission, and people on missions did not take backward steps, but walked forward proudly.

She knew that becoming a psychiatrist was not an easy task. Four years of college, then four years of medical school and finally, four years of psychiatry residence training. College was behind her already; she had a bachelor's degree in biology and was proud of it. She had a nursing degree as well and had been a good nurse so far. All of it had been accomplished before her twenty-fourth birthday. She guessed that her education and good resume impressed Dr Crane and led him to hire her. As soon as she thought about it again, she scoffed and mumbled something resentful under her breath. No, he was most probably _not_ impressed; he was not the type of man to ever be impressed by anything or anyone, rather than his brilliant self. He was probably just reassured by her credentials that he was not going to hire an incompetent dolt.

The worst thing was that she deeply admired the man. He was not yet thirty-three and could already boast about being head of a psychiatric hospital. She supposed he was one of those intelligent people who graduated from college before others, and who accomplished some things before average people could even start thinking about getting them one day. His researches and articles on the psychology of fear and phobias were nothing short of phenomenal, and she had read all of them with eager anticipation for more. She would have chosen him as her mentor any day, but now that she got to meet him face to face, she was really disappointed.

It was the sin and major flaw of all geniuses – the terrible feeling of self-importance, which led to their inability to act like normal human beings when interacting with other less gifted wretched souls.

Pearl laughed to herself. She was being truly resentful, sarcastic and hateful, and she had not even started working for her new boss. She would probably not see him much, anyway, she mused. Perhaps, she thought optimistically, he had a bad day when he interviewed her and she only imagined him as being a rude, haughty person. Until proved guilty, she would see him as innocent and acquitted of all of her charges. The thing was that she still admired him as a scientist, and either way, working for such an important and intelligent man would certainly be very inspiring, would it not? She only hoped she was not completely wrong. She had been wrong about people before and she truly had to get rid of her naivety at some point.

Pearl concluded her inner ramblings with a shrug that was supposed to relax her tense muscles. She was a shy person, although she tried to deny it and not show it to the public eye. Meeting new people, especially new co-workers, was never a happy experience for her. She thought that her sometimes unnaturally shy nature might have drawn the previous monstrous image of Dr Crane in her head. People that were stronger than her in that respect never made her comfortable and she even resented them at times. She sighed, hoping that Nurse Clarke, Arkham's head nurse for the fourth and fifth floors, was not a witch, and that all the other nurses would accept her with friendliness. She really did wish to make new friends in Gotham and her new working environment seemed like a good place to start.

She left the car, her bag under her arm, and took a deep breath.

"Here we go," she whispered to herself and started walking towards the main entrance of Arkham Asylum, looking forward to the day ahead with optimism.

* * *

Dr Jonathan Crane had been working on Zsasz's profile for a while. It would have to be presented at the next court session when he would give his professional opinion on the man. Crane huffed to himself. For the last year, he had been repeating himself. It was true, Falcone provided them with his services and in return, Crane made sure that Falcone's little monsters avoided real prison, but it was beginning to truly bore Crane. It used to be quite fun to proclaim people insane and sometimes even make them _go_ insane, but Falcone's men were under the mobster's protection, and so, for now, he could not even have his share of fun with them. At least his other patients were not under Falcone's protection. It would be simply awful if years of experimentation had suddenly gone to waste at any point.

Crane removed the glasses from his nose and pressed the ridge with his thumb and index finger.

"Hm, Zsasz," he murmured to himself, "What will it be for you?"

He smiled to himself, put the glasses back on his nose and finished the profile with the words _Schizophrenia. Treatment at Arkham highly recommended._

Zsasz was known to have abused drugs in the past; therefore, if anyone asked about the cause of his state, he would mention excessive drug abuse and difficult childhood, perhaps even mommy issues. It always worked like a charm. If any difficulties should arise, he would give the little monster a dose of his own medicine. Then, no one would question Dr Crane's judgement for another second, not even the most doubtful ones like Miss Dawes.

What would he tell them on the stand?

"Hm," he practiced, "In my opinion, Mr Zsasz is as much a danger to himself as to others, and prison is probably not the best environment for his rehabilitation."

That sounded good enough.

Finishing the profile, which was an easy, but painfully boring task, Crane looked at his schedule and found that he had a session with George Hardy in ten minutes. Good, an _actual_ crazy. A very _frightened_ crazy at that. Just the thought of poor, whimpering George warmed his heart and accelerated its usually calm, rigid pace.

Crane turned off his computer and was in the process of rising from his chair when his desk phone rang. He looked at the object sternly and picked it up.

"Dr Crane," he spoke with cold politeness.

"Dr Crane, Nurse Clarke speaking," the woman on the other end of the line spoke. Crane could almost roll his eyes at the sound of her shrilling voice, but he did not. He never did. He only imagined doing it, but on the outside, he always kept his composure, even when he was alone.

"We have just had a situation with George Hardy," she continued. "He is having one of his fits again."

Crane sighed inwardly. "Of course he is," he replied. "I am on my way to him. Do not sedate him yet. Wait for me," he ordered.

He was about to hang up, but the head nurse still had something to say. "Dr Crane, he hurt one of the nurses. The new nurse, Pearl Jones."

Now, Crane was amused. He remembered the nurse he interviewed and hired just a few days ago. If his memory served him correctly, she was one of the nurses working on the fourth floor. Yes, the proud one, the one who was happy to say she had a bachelor's degree in biology and wanted to become a psychiatrist, the one who imagined that she saw right through him, thinking him so very rude and arrogant, and she took the defensive stance, completely unaware of it, completely unaware of how easy she was to read. He knew the type: eager, happy to be a nurse, but wanting more; the saviour complex, the eternal optimist, annoyingly naive and open with her emotions. Afraid of disapproval. One of her many fears. He had yet to figure out her other fears, but that was only a matter of time. For now, he knew she was a frightened little girl who wanted to appear as a tough, impenetrable woman. Eventually, he got to the core of all of his employees. He knew them all, and they only _presumed_ they knew him.

"What happened?" he asked, slightly intrigued. He did not know Nurse Jones would prove to be troublesome on her very first day at work. He should have expected that from an eager new nurse who discarded her education in biology to help the helpless.

"Well, she got too close to Mr Hardy, invaded his personal space. You know how he hates that."

What Crane hated was when the nurses explained the obvious to him, but he listened without interruption.

"He grabbed the necklace she had around her neck, and instead of letting him have it, she tried to take it back. I forgot to tell her that he likes to take shiny things from us, but that we always get them back after he is sedated. So, as I've said, she tried to take the necklace back, but that frightened him. He screamed and actually backhanded her. She hit the nearest wall with her head. It was a strong blow. She may have a concussion, but she won't let us take a look. He is still rambling in his cell."

Crane sensed reproach in Nurse Clarke's voice. That amused him, too.

"As I have said, Nurse Clarke," he replied coldly, "I am on my way there. Wait for me."

Saying that, he hung up and straightened his tie.

His constant prop – the briefcase filled with his necessary working material – in his hand, he left his office.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you for your wonderful reviews! I appreciate them very much!

AUTHOR'S NOTE 1: I would like to address an aspect of the _Batman Begins_ plot that I intend to change in my story. Namely, the anti-dote. In my story, the anti-dote reverses the effect of Crane's toxin, like in the movie, but not permanently - meaning that if the anti-dote is used on John Doe, John won't become immune to the toxin; the toxin can be used on Mr Doe time and time again, as well as the anti-dote. I will explain this further on in the story. I just wanted to point this out now, as this chapter refers to this issue just a bit.

AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: My sister's best friend worked as a nurse in a psychiatric hospital for four months, so I decided to base my representation of hospital work and organization on his descriptions.

DISCLAIMER: I have no claim over Dr Jonathan Crane.

Another Author's Note at the end of the chapter.

* * *

**CHAPTER 2**

**/ \**

He heard the nurses talking – correction, _chattering_ – before he saw them. As he was approaching their little session taking place in the hall where George Hardy's cell was situated, hearing again and again what had happened in that cell, he was pondering on whether he should rebuke Nurse Jones in front of her colleagues or in private. He liked it both ways, really, but tête-à-têtes had proved to be much more effective and frightening. Putting someone to shame in front of other people, especially their greedy, envious co-workers, was always a charming event, but to force someone to face themselves on their own, with him looming above them as a reminder and as a threat, was much more poignant and served its purpose better.

As he decided to afford Nurse Jones a private meeting, he reached the chattering nurses and as soon as they noticed his presence, they all went completely quiet and rigid, avoiding his penetrating blue gaze if possible. Only one nurse was brave enough to take two steps forward; it was the head nurse. She was about to speak, but he silenced her by simply lifting the index finger of his right hand and turning his head to the left, towards the door of Hardy's cell. He could distinctly hear the man's periodical shrieks. They resembled the screams of a man who was being skinned alive. When he looked through the small barred window of the cell's door, he noticed that George Hardy was rocking on his bed, hugging his shivering knees, his head producing wobbly, jerky movements as he let out an occasional uncontrolled scream. He noticed that from within one of his clutched fists, a gold necklace was dangling. That was one of Hardy's fits. He may have appeared as a harmless weak-minded creature, but he was a danger to the staff when he was in such a state. Hardy's aggression was lurking just below his crazy surface.

Crane looked at Nurse Clarke calmly. "Please, have the nurses go back to their work."

She only looked at them and they were on their way to their regular business. They did not leave because of Nurse Clarke; they left because of Dr Crane's order.

"Thank you, Nurse Clarke," he commented. "Tell Nurse Jones to be in my office in ten minutes' time."

She nodded. "Two orderlies will be here shortly, Dr Crane."

"Thank you. That won't be necessary, Nurse Clarke," he replied with indifference. Saying that, he took the key of Hardy's cell from his vest pocket and proceeded to unlock the door.

"But Dr Crane, he is having a fit and –"

Crane looked at her over his shoulder, eyeing her with his cold blue orbs. His words before were not a suggestion, but a statement and his firm decision that should not be questioned under any circumstances.

"Thank you, Nurse Clarke," he repeated silently, his voice a command, its tone hard, cold silver.

Nurse Clarke left without another question.

Dr Crane entered the cell with the usual air of natural nonchalance. He grabbed the wooden chair waiting by the door and moved it to the patient's bed. He sat on the chair, setting his briefcase by the chair, crossing his legs and pushing his glasses further up his nose.

"George," he spoke, leaning forward, closer to the patient, very close to invading the man's personal space.

George let out a high-pitched yelp that distorted his ragged face, then proceeded with the rocking motions, hugging his knees even tighter. The necklace dangled from his fat fingers.

"George," Dr Crane spoke with a deeper, more guttural voice, exhibiting a general's sternness and starkness.

George winced and his ginger head wobbled in Crane's direction, trying to make eye contact, but not managing the simple feat. The patient was lost inside the rocking motions, sliding faster and faster into his inner world, although his screams might have suggested otherwise.

Dr Crane sighed with mock impatience. "Now, George, I believe you have something that belongs to another person."

Crane saw George clutch at the necklace even tighter. He was not being very co-operative.

"George, George," Crane continued with unnerving calmness, taking the glasses off, moving even closer to George's side, completely breaching the limits of the man's personal space. George would have lashed out at anyone else, but not at his doctor. Crane smiled to himself briefly, relishing in the power he held over poor, crazy George.

Crane extended his hand, touching George's white fist with the tips of his long, thin fingers.

"Give me the necklace, George."

George shook his head, his lips trembling violently. "P-p-pretty...Sh-shiny..." he mumbled, grinning to himself.

"George," Crane repeated, "you are being a very naughty man. I would hate to do it, George," he repeated the patient's name, faking the affection in his voice, "but if you insist on being naughty, I will have to play crows and scarecrows with you. How would you like that, hm, George? Do you remember the game?"

Suddenly, George's eyes widened in utter terror. He whimpered and started to shake his head. The rocking stopped; instead, the patient started to scratch his hands, a clear sign that he was feeling very uncomfortable and very, very scared. Crane was happy to see his reaction. He had anticipated it. He had never failed George in this respect.

"You don't want us to play crows and scarecrows?" he asked nicely, as if he were asking a small, pouting child.

George whimpered again and Crane could feel the thin necklace snake its way between his thin fingers. As George completely let go of the object, the necklace was finally in Crane's full possession. He noticed a medium-sized, old, scarred locket attached to the necklace. Just the thing George liked.

"Thank you, George," Crane spoke, grabbing his briefcase and leaving the cell, locking it behind. As far as he was concerned, the session was over.

He saw Nurse Clarke lurking nearby and he summoned her to his side with a simple motion of his fingers.

"Nurse Clarke," he spoke evenly, "There is no need to sedate him just now. Mr Hardy will be enjoying only his regular medications today. His state of hysteria should wear off on its own soon."

He saw doubt and surprise flicker in the nurse's eyes, but he did not really care. His word was law in the asylum. A sedative would be a relief to George at the moment. Crane decided that it would do George good to stay awake for a day, have his voices tell him not to disobey his doctor again. Some lessons had to be repeated several times. Fear was a powerful tool, but sometimes, the tool had to be used several times for one to achieve their goals.

"Yes, Dr Crane. And, erm, Nurse Jones will be with you in two minutes. Is that alright?"

Crane nodded. "Quite alright, Nurse Clarke. Thank you."

With that, the nurse was dismissed and Dr Crane returned to his office. He did not have much time on his hands, but enough time to deal with Nurse Jones. Specimens of humanity such as Nurse Jones were very easy to handle.

He threw the locket on his desk and sat down in his swivel chair, turning on his computer. He noticed that the locket had opened as it hit the surface of his desk. George must have damaged the old, ugly little thing. Crane took it between his fingers, his intention to clasp the locket back together before setting it back on his desk. His eyes quite unintentionally skimmed the picture gracing the inside of the locket and suddenly, his throat was dry and the pace of his heart accelerating from the unwanted, terrible surprise, something that had not happened to him in a very, very long time.

_It is not possible._

He stared into her eyes, the eyes from his past, frozen in time when they were still alive, before he extinguished the light of life's fire in them.

_Sherry Squires._

He closed the offensive locket, but did not let go of it just yet; he held it between his fingers, eyeing it with hostility and curiosity. He opened it again, slowly, taking a deep, aching breath before he looked at her picture again, her face one big happy grin; her perfect, blond curls surrounding her pretty face like an angel's halo. He smirked. She was anything but an angel, as far as he could remember, and now she was actually back, taunting him like she used to.

No one had the right to taunt Dr Jonathan Crane.

His interior had been a calm lake for many years. Sherry herself had some share in that, and he could say that he was grateful to her for helping him change for the better, to grow from a frightened boy into a fearsome man. Therefore, he did not appreciate the ripple very much, however small, short-lived and insignificant it had been, that she caused on the surface of his inner lake. No one had done that since her, and she was dead, absolutely and completely dead, therefore her post-humus insult was even greater. He began to hate her anew. He hated her for coming back. The dead were supposed to stay dead. However, he could partly forgive her reappearance. She was kind of special.

His first victim.

His first kill.

One never forgot one's first, after all.

He was not the frightened boy from the past anymore. He was Dr Jonathan Crane, known to his patients as the Scarecrow. They were all just crows, nothing more, and he was above them by far. He was the scarecrow in their fields of life, and what did scarecrows do? They frightened the crows, never the other way around.

Regaining his temporarily disturbed composure, he felt much better again, and finally, the obvious thought crossed his mind.

Why did Nurse Jones keep a picture of Sherry Squires in her locket?

Suddenly, Nurse Jones was not just one of the nurses anymore, a nurse that could easily be overlooked and forgotten. Not just a name anymore, not just an employee.

Nurse Jones had just become an object of interest, and he thought with a small amount of excitement that it was never a good thing to become an object of _his_ interest.

He would strip her to the bones, uncover every single secret she had, every single fear she had experienced in her short life. He would enjoy every moment of it, and in the end, he would decide whether she represented any harm to him or not. But either way, she had piqued his interest. She was to blame, not him. It was not him who brought Sherry back, and it was certainly not his doing, that unfortunate little ripple inside him.

No one had the right to affect him like this. Only he had the right to have an effect on others.

Nurse Jones would be his next play thing. He was already looking forward to showing her his mask some day in the near future.

There was a special sort of pleasure in making a medical person go insane. He hadn't done it in the longest time. It was time he had brought someone who thought was better than patients to their proud, insulting knees.

* * *

Pearl was standing in front of the door of Dr Crane's office, trying to suppress the annoying, nagging sensation of fear tickling her veins. She did not need this, not on her first day at Arkham. She could not get fired, especially since she was innocent. It was not her fault that George Hardy reacted that way. No one had told her the man was so fierce, and strong. Besides, she had a right to defend her possessions. Patient or not, psychosis or not, it was her necklace, and she did not care about how childish her thoughts just sounded.

God, her head would explode. The pain was throbbing in her brain, despite the two Vicodins she took ten minutes ago. When would the pills start working, anyway? Her hands were still shaking and her knees felt weak. She had never been attacked by a patient before. Obviously, she had underestimated Mr Hardy. George's reaction frightened her, but luckily, it did not throw her off her balance. Her equilibrium remained intact, but she suspected her fragile state of calm would soon alter significantly. She had to face Dr Crane.

_Crap._

She thought with a bitter smile that she would much rather face George Hardy again, this very instant, than see Dr Crane.

Deciding that it was best to stare the devil in the eyes, trying not to think about whether Dr Crane would behave like a devil or not, she knocked on the door. She realized that she was actually holding her breath and that made her click her tongue in annoyance with herself. She just hoped he did not have super hearing. She would be mortified to know that he actually heard that.

She heard the even "Come in," and opened the door carefully, fully prepared for a few moments of possible inquisition.

He was typing on the keyboard, his gaze focused on the computer's screen, never looking up as he invited her to sit down. She did not respond; she simply did as she was told and waited for his cue. She watched his very long, amazingly thin fingers caress the keys, undoubtedly creating something academic. In what she hoped was an inconspicuous gesture, she proceeded to study the man further, something she did not get the chance to do during her interview. His clothes were quite scholarly, but elegant, and she was almost certain that they were tailor-made. He looked very young with his maroon, slightly wavy hair and the fair, smooth skin, but his piercing gaze took the young age away. His eyes gave him an air of arrogance and mercilessness, she thought with slight discomfort. She actually began to wonder what was going on in his head, but she refrained from actually going there, as she most definitely did not want to imagine her employer in any way.

Suddenly, he stopped typing and he looked at her, straight in her eyes, the ice blue colour of his matching the softer blue of hers. She actually winced, not expecting him to move so suddenly, to focus on her so completely. She had the strangest feeling that his eyes were boring into her own, and she looked away, moving in her chair, crossing her legs and hiding her fingers in the space between her knees. She hated to show him her nervous gesture, but it was all done almost unconsciously. She just could not help feeling nervous and shy in his imposing presence.

"Nurse Jones," he spoke. He rested his spine against the back of his chair and leaned his fingers against the edge of his desk.

"Doctor," she replied, wrying a smile. She noticed her necklace on his desk.

"Oh, uhm..." she started.

"You may take it," he said, his expression unchanging. She got an uncomfortable feeling that he was judging her, reading her. She took the necklace in her hands with trembling fingers, gently, and noticed with sadness that the clasp was broken. That dampened her spirits. The necklace had never been damaged before. It felt like a sign, but she could not refer to it more specifically.

"The necklace must be a very special object to you, Nurse Jones," he began, "since you risked Mr Hardy's uncontrolled wrath and my disapproval to obtain it back from the patient's hands."

Pearl was tempted to lower her head in shame, but she forced herself to keep her eyes on Dr Crane's. If she was going to be made redundant, she would leave with her pride intact.

"Dr Crane, I know that I should have known better, regardless of whether I was aware of Mr Hardy's inclinations or not." She sighed. "But I confess that my emotions took hold of my reason. I reacted purely by instinct."

She wanted to add an "I promise it will not happen again," but she did not want to provoke him into saying the fateful words "I dare say not, you are fired," too soon.

Instead, she said, "I really hope Mr Hardy is fine...I _am_ a fast learner, so I am quite certain I'll get to know all of the patients in no time."

Okay, that was really pathetic. Whatever happened to the _pride intact_ plan?

Dr Crane pursed his lips slightly as if in deep thought, then said, "Why is the necklace so special to you, Nurse Jones? If I may be so bold as to ask," he added politely, but he did not smile. His face remained calm and emotionless.

Pearl definitely did not expect him to ask her that. Was he not going to scold her, or was his politeness just a prelude to what was yet to come?

In any event, she had nothing to hide. She liked to remember Sherry, even in Crane's presence.

"It's simple," she said, lowering her head. "The necklace with the locket was given to me by my sister Sherry when I was eight. I have her picture in the locket." She looked through the window of the office for a second. "My sister is dead. Has been dead for nearly...what, sixteen years now. I, uh...I don't have any other sisters or brothers. I guess she was everything I had."

Pearl looked at Dr Crane again. Did his expression ever change? He seemed so absolutely unwavering.

"Why did she die? Was she sick?" he asked. She could tell he was in his doctor/examiner mode, but she actually did not mind that anymore. She had not talked about Sherry for years.

"She was seventeen when she was murdered, actually. She gave me the necklace the day before she died. As if she'd known that...that she was going to die."

He nodded. "Interesting."

"Yes... She, uh...She was killed on Halloween, the day after my birthday. They never found the person who did it, but it might have been her then boyfriend Bo Griggs, who disappeared on that day. I guess we'll never know."

"Would knowing the killer's identity help you overcome the pain of loss?" he asked.

She shrugged her shoulders and opened the locket, caressing her sister's picture with her trembling fingers.

"Not really. Maybe knowing the killer would cause me even more pain. I can hate his guts without knowing his name. I just hope he's rotting in the hell he created."

She saw Dr Crane tense a little, but before she could start analysing it in her head, she noticed that he only moved in his chair a little and unbuttoned one button of his jacket. It was kind of stuffy and hot in the office.

"That will be all," Crane replied. "You may go now."

She stared at him in wonder. That was it? No, it couldn't be. Now that she thought about it, the whole conversation had been very strange. They talked about her personal memories and he never scolded her. He had not even asked how she felt. The head nurse must have reported to him about the possibility of a concussion, although Pearl was very sure she did not have a concussion. He did not really care about the story she had just related to him. He did not fire her and she was allowed to go. She was completely perplexed.

_Who exactly are you, Crane? Definitely not the scholar I used to admire._

"Er, Dr Crane," she began, but was interrupted.

"Do make sure, Nurse Jones," he spoke coldly, "that no complaints relating to you will reach me in the future. I would hate to see you...go."

Pearl smiled at him bitterly. Finally. A nice, subtle threat. Very lovely. She was convinced now that he was a monster in the disguise of a gentleman.

_No, you are not the man I imagined to have seen in your articles._

"Thank you for your time, Dr Crane," she said, adopting a slightly sardonic tone.

She left the office fuming. No, she definitely did _not_ like Dr Crane anymore.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE 3: Sherry Squires and Bo Griggs are characters from the _New Earth_ story arc. I'm going to introduce them in the next chapter, so stay tuned.


	3. Chapter 3: Part I

Hello, again! I'm glad to be back with an update. A big thank you to my readers, and reviewers. I would also like to thank those who don't review, but still read this story, and those who have added this story to their favorites and/or story alert. Thank you!

AUTHOR'S NOTE 1: This is Part I of CHAPTER 3. I was so inspired for CHAPTER 3. The end result: 18 pages in Word. So, I decided to break CHAPTER 3 into two parts. Both parts are centered around Jonathan Crane when he was seventeen. I based Jonathan's teenage years on the _New Earth_ story arc, but I changed bits and pieces, and added things. I focused on a particular period in his past. This is not a Crane origins story, so CHAPTER 3 is the only chapter that features Crane's past in detail. I only focused on the part that is significant for the present time of the story.

* * *

**CHAPTER 3**

**Part I**

**/ \**

He allowed himself to stare after her as she left his office, never looking back, as her soul was fuming inwardly, and he had quite a good idea as to why she felt like this. That did not bother him in the slightest. What bothered him was _who_ she was.

Nurse Jones was the sister of Sherry Squires, the woman he killed, _murdered_, in cold blood, more or less, one year before high school graduation.

It was an awkward, bizarre and, foremost, a very unprecedented situation, and he did not like it, not one bit. In fact, he hated it. It made him remember things, feel things, hear things he did not want to deal with. The ripple inside him was subsided for now, but with Nurse Jones around, it was only a matter of time before the ripple would tremble on the surface of his inner lake again. His decision was reinforced. He would keep the nurse around, and he would make it his explicit business to uncover her completely. It would be an easy task for a man like him. And then, when she would be revealed to him absolutely, he would crush her. His reason told him that it was not her fault, any of it, but the ripple had thrown him off balance and his shaken core demanded retribution. No one could affect him with impunity.

He usually did not take lunch breaks, but this time, he decided to make an exception. Until he was completely certain that the ripple was truly gone, he could not be truly calm. He left his office, taking the briefcase with him, and locked the door. He walked through the halls the same way he usually did, unfeeling and focused. That helped him a bit. Finally, the asylum was behind him, its high grey white walls looming behind him, as uncaring as he was.

Until this day.

He took long strides to reach the parking lot faster. The drizzle slashing through the air did not bother him in the slightest. The powdery water gathered on his glasses, creating a gossamer film on his hair, but water was just water to him, nothing of importance. He reached his car and was insanely relieved when he sat down in the driver's seat, facing away from Arkham, towards the fields of abandoned factories, towards the hidden nests of criminals. He took his glasses off, threw them on the passenger seat next to the briefcase and closed his eyes hard.

He knew he had to remember it all, every single detail, however unimportant. He had to go through that moment in the past, and the moments that encompassed it, to be able to reach forward again and return to his unperturbed, unfeeling self.

And then, he saw her again.

* * *

_He had never really noticed her before, but on the first day of the new school year, she came back as a completely different person and his breath hitched in his throat as she walked to her locker, next to his. Everything happened in slow motion; her hand flipping her long, blond hair; her lips smiling at a joke told by her best friend Melissa; the rim of her mini-skirt chafing against her thighs._

_She had become a woman over the course of the summer, beautiful and alluring. Everything about her invited him in; her voice, her face, her beautiful, long, cascading hair. Her laughter was the prettiest sound and all of a sudden, Jonathan found himself in love for the first time in his life, and the girl was, surprisingly, Sherry Squires._

_She was by his side now. She opened her locker and placed her books inside it, explaining something to Melissa. He wasn't listening, he kept staring at her. _

_Suddenly, a piercing chuckle startled him and he blinked several times, returning back to reality. He saw Melissa pointing a finger at him._

"_Look at Ichabod!" she chuckled. "He is _so_ checking you out, Sher!" _

_Sherry's eyes met his and she smiled. She took a step towards him and if she'd touched him in that moment, he would have died. His heart was racing with abnormal speed. _

"_Oh my God, that's so gross," Melissa commented. "If Bo finds out about it, Cranezy, he's gonna kick your thin ass to next Sunday." _

_He _hated_ being called Cranezy above all else. He could swallow the insults, but he could never stand the implications that he was crazy. He broke eye contact with Sherry and slammed the locker door into place with a loud crash. He saw Sherry wince from the corner of his eyes, but he was too enraged with Melissa to feel guilty._

_As he was walking away from yet another scene of his humiliation, he heard the girls' giggles lash out at him. It was the most miserable moment of his life._

* * *

_School was over for the day. Jonathan exhaled with relief. It was all over the school now that he was looking at Sherry like a lovesick puppy during the first recess and there was only so much his mind could take. The worst of it all was that Sherry never said anything to him. She just kept smiling serenely, as if she'd been enjoying all of the new attention; she probably did. She was now a damsel in distress and he was the bad guy who put her in that position. It was only a matter of time before Sherry's dumb knight Bo came prancing along and defend his possession the way Bo knew best._

_Jonathan walked out of the school with hurried stops, hoping he could avoid Bo for the day. He was really relieved when he was a good mile away from the school grounds and there was still no sign of Bo Griggs and his gang. Only a mile more and he would be home, safe and sound...until the next day. He noticed that he had been running all the while and he stopped abruptly in shame, shaking his head at his childish cowardice. _

_As he turned a corner, his face unexpectedly slammed into a solid form and he staggered backwards, surprise and shock spreading through his entire body like a disease. There stood Bo Griggs, as proud as a peacock and as enraged as a bull. Bo's gang was just behind their leader, snickering and scoffing at Jonathan._

"_Hi, Cranezy," Bo spat out viciously, approaching Jonathan with deliberate steps. Jonathan started taking careful steps back. _

"_H-hi, Bo," he replied, scared. He was suddenly so consumed by fear that he could hardly think._

"_I heard you like _my_ girlfriend, you little piece of shit."_

_Jonathan expected Bo to talk some more; that was how the bullies from his street behaved before they decided to strike. But not Bo. Without any warning, Bo punched him in the face with a force that made Jonathan see stars in an instant._

_He fell to the ground hard, but Bo didn't afford him a time off. _

"_How do you like _this_, Ichabod, huh?"_

_He kept punching and kicking Jonathan's skinny body. All Jonathan could do was curl up into a ball to protect his stomach from any further injuries and endure the violent onslaught. He had learned years ago that it was best to keep silent during an attack. If he screamed and tried to extricate himself from a punching fit of his father, it only got worse. His father died before he could kill his son with his punches, but Jonathan started to believe he came back as Bo Griggs._

_He was too frightened and weak to fight back. The pain was so great that it rendered him almost senseless. His glasses fell from his bleeding, most probably broken nose, and his surroundings became a blur. But he knew his vision was not blurry just because he had just lost his glasses; Bo's rage had started to affect his entire body. He could hear the sick churning of blood in his head._

_The local bullies afforded him an occasional pinching or kicking escapade, but it never went beyond a few harmless bruises. This time, Jonathan was certain he was going to die. It was the first time Bo used him as a punching bag and Jonathan was sure it was also the last time. _

_As his world started to grow black, the last thing he heard was the ecstatic laughter of Bo and his friends._

* * *

_He was not sure whether he was dead or alive. He decided to take a deep breath to make sure and when his ribs groaned in painful protest, he was certain he was still alive, against all odds. He hissed through his teeth, trying to suppress a swear word, and opened his eyes. He had no idea where he was, but a realization began to dawn on him as he felt his right hand resting inside the itching smoothness of a cast. He moved his left hand with painful slowness and rested it on his ribs, but regretted the decision immediately, as sharp pain poked his skin like a needle right where he touched it with his fingers. He hissed again. Some of his ribs were broken._

"_Oh, Jon, thank God!" he heard his mother exclaim and in an instant, she merged into his focus, all tears and smiles. She looked like shaped mist and he knew he was without the glasses. Or maybe, his vision was screwed up for good. He could not say._

"_Honey, can you hear me?" she asked worriedly. _

_He nodded. "Yes..." he said slowly, the word just a ragged whisper._

"_How...long..." he tried, but could not continue. His throat was so very dry._

"_You are in Gotham General, honey, you've been here for four days." His mother removed a few tresses of hair from his forehead lovingly. "You've been unconscious, but stable all the while. Do you remember anything, Jon?"_

_He shook his head. He remembered Bo and his vicious knuckles, but nothing of what had taken place afterwards. _

"_What..." he rasped out._

_His mother sighed. "You were mugged, honey. At least this is what the Police think. Your wallet was missing. Is this what happened, Jon?"_

_He had no idea why he did that, but he nodded in affirmation. He did not want Bo to go to jail. Maybe, he wanted Bo to remain free, free for Jonathan to have his revenge when the time was right. Hopefully. But most probably, it was an act of subconscious fear. Jonathan despised his own cowardice. _

"_They said I should notify them when you wake up. They are going to need your statement."_

_He nodded again._

"_Jon, there's someone to see you. She says her name is Sherry. Would you like to see her, honey?"_

_Suddenly, his mind was reeling. Sherry was there to see him? He could hear his heart run faster, as the machine on his left started to beep more frantically._

"_Jon?" came his mother's worried face._

"_Is...she...alone...?" he spoke softly. He was not ready for Bo yet. It was too soon. He needed more time._

"_Yes, she's all by herself."_

_The beeping returned to a normal pace and he closed his eyes in relief. The fear was replaced by curiosity. _

_He said, "Sherry," nodded and his mother understood. Before his mother left the room, Jonathan whispered "Alone," and his mother responded, "Of course, I'll give you two some alone time. I'll go talk to your doctor meanwhile, okay?"_

_As Sherry came into his focus, his heart began to pound in his chest again and he felt almost ashamed, but he was too exhausted and drugged to care much. The idea of Bo coming to pay him a visit already drained him of a lot of his energy. _

_He was surprised to see tears in her eyes as she sat down in the chair previously occupied by his mother._

"_Jonathan," she choked out. "I broke up with Bo. He went too far this time." She sniffed. "Have you told the Police..."_

_He shook his head. Of course, she was worried. She may have broken up with Bo, but she was still worried about the bully. It was disgusting. He felt hurt. He did not want to feel disgusted with Sherry._

"_Why?" she exclaimed. "You should have."_

_This took him by surprise. Suddenly, she rested her head on his chest and began to cry. He groaned in pain and winced, but she failed to notice it._

"_I'm so sorry, Jonathan. I'm so sorry, it's all my fault..."_

_His fingers slowly found her hair spreading across his chest and he rested them there. _

"_It's...fine..." he rasped out._

"_No, it's not," she continued to sob into his aching chest. "He beat you up because of me and I was of no help. I made fun of you too, Jonathan. I called you Ichabod and Scarecrow and Cranezy behind your back and Bo felt he had the right to...to...I am _so_ sorry..."_

_Jonathan was surprised to feel a tear trickle down his cheek. He was happy. Suddenly, it had all been worth it and if that would have been necessary to have Sherry so close, he would have gone through the ordeal again._

* * *

_It was incredible, but true – Sherry was his friend and she was not even ashamed of it. When he returned to school three weeks later, she helped him carry his books, inviting disgusted or merely surprised stares from everyone. Bo Griggs was seething very obviously, but as cowardly as it may have sounded, Jonathan was under Sherry's protection. Sherry was popular and her word was law among her followers. She assured him that she had threatened to expose Bo if he tried anything against Jonathan again. Jonathan would have much preferred to be the man in the situation, but he was also very proud of Sherry. And most importantly, he was happy to be around her._

_She often came to his house after school to do her homework. She had problems with chemistry and biology and he would tutor her. She felt truly guilty and tried to please Jonathan by being as good a friend as she could be. He liked the attention. He was becoming more in love with her with every new day. The insults had not stopped, but he did not mind them anymore. He had Sherry. His luck was even greater when the neighbour whose kids bullied him on a daily basis moved from the neighbourhood. Jonathan was sure his life was finally starting to turn for the better. _

_One day, Sherry came by his house in the evening. His mother was sure Sherry was his girlfriend and always greeted the girl warmly. Jonathan never corrected his mother's disillusion; he enjoyed the fact that someone thought _he_ had a girlfriend; he, the tall, skinny, frightened, freaky teenager. It did wonders to his underdeveloped ego._

_Sherry threw herself on his bed as she always did, landing on her back and folding her hands on her chest. If she'd known what a temptation she was in that serene pose, she would have stopped doing that, but Jonathan kept silent, not wanting to ruin those moments. _

_She sighed miserably and Jonathan knew immediately that something was wrong, or at least different. He sat down beside her, keeping a safe distance, as always._

"_Oh, Jonathan. I did something terrible and I'm afraid you are going to hate me for it."_

_He chuckled. "No, I'm sure I could never hate you."_

_She scrambled to her knees, piercing his orbs with her green blue doe's eyes. His emotions were reeling; she was so damn beautiful._

"_Jon, we both know that you are the genius and I the dumb one, so it shouldn't come to you as a surprise, after all, I guess..."_

_She chewed on her bottom lip and he began to fantasise about taking that luscious, inviting lip between his teeth and –_

"_I'm back with Bo."_

_Jonathan felt as if someone had just landed a forceful punch into his solar plexus. _

"_This changes nothing between us, of course, but...the problem is that Bo...hurt you and..."_

_Jonathan stood up and threw the door of his room open. "Get out, Sherry," he snarled._

"_But, Jon – "_

"_You are right," he retorted, "You _are_ dumb. Now get out."_

_He was visibly trembling with anger, his usually beautiful blue eyes turning to ice. He could see Sherry look at him warily as she stood up from the bed. She just stood there, eyeing him suspiciously, trying to assess the situation. Suddenly, he realized that Sherry was afraid of him. Someone was afraid of _him_. He laughed to himself, pleased with the newly-found knowledge about himself._

"_Jonathan, please, you're freaking me out," Sherry whispered._

_He had had enough. He grabbed her by the right arm and yanked her out of his room. She tried to fight him, but he kept on going, down the stairs and towards the entrance door._

"_Get the _fuck_ out of my house," he demanded. It was the first time he cursed aloud and it surprised even him, not to mention Sherry's shock._

_Without another word, Sherry ran and he stared after her until she disappeared. _

_Jonathan returned to his room, ignoring his mother's questions. He sat down on his bed and tried to calm down the boiling rage surging through his veins like short, smarting explosions of lightning. His eyes caught sight of a thin book he had read numerous times, trying to understand why his classmates wanted to humiliate him by calling him Ichabod. _

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow_ by Washington Irving. For a long time, he admired Ichabod Crane, found solace in the character, saw someone like himself in the hero. He admired Ichabod's skills and intellect, but now he found himself despising Ichabod. After all, Ichabod was nothing but a coward, a whining, creepy little sissy boy, who never did anything to make his situation better, much like Jonathan. He let Sherry inside and she trampled him down. He had let everyone trample him down._

_Not anymore. No one would ever laugh at him again, not even Sherry Squires and Bo Griggs, the violent, fearsome bully. It was time the roles had been reversed and Jonathan would start practicing immediately. _

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: Yes, Jonathan used the F-word. Don't expect him to do that again, though. The adult Jonathan is something else. I can tell you right now that this is the only time my Jonathan Crane uses a swear word, ever.


	4. Chapter 3: Part II

CREDITS: Some of the credit for this chapter goes to _Nine Inch Nails_. This band has inspired me in so many ways, and towards the end of this chapter, I tried to incorporate some of the band's lyrics into my writing, as a homage to NIN.

Some of the credit also goes to an Investigation Discovery show, _Most Evil_, starring forensic psychiatrist Michael Stone, who is famous for having come up with "the scale of evil". It is a scale with 22 categories, No. 22 standing for the most evil killers, and No.1 standing for those who kill in self-defense.

* * *

**CHAPTER 3**

**Part II**

**/ \**

_One week later, Jonathan was returning some books to his locker when Sherry approached him. She looked miserable and insecure, and Jonathan found it amusing. It was amazing how much a man could change during the course of seven days. There was much to be done yet, but he already felt better._

"_Jonathan?" Sherry asked him timidly. _

"_Sherry," he replied coldly, feigning nonchalance. He had to admit that he was still not over Sherry. That would take some time._

"_Jonathan, I broke up with Bo again. For good."_

_Jonathan's heart skipped a beat, but he ignored that. "And? I'm sure you two will get back together in no time."_

_He closed the locker and began to walk towards the English classroom. Sherry trailed behind him and he was surprised that she followed him._

"_Jon, please, let's put all of this behind us...Jonathan!"_

_He stopped and turned around. Sherry crashed into him, but took a swift step back immediately. _

"_What do you want from me? Haven't you had enough?" he accused her angrily._

_Her eyes were tearing up, but she blinked the emerging wetness away. "I really am sorry, Jon."_

"_It's Jonathan," he snapped back._

"_Jonathan," she corrected herself. "I really acted like a brainless twat, I confess, and I want to make it up to you, show you that I am still your friend."_

"_And how do you intend to do that, Sherry?" he asked her mockingly._

"_Jonathan," she started nervously, chewing on her bottom lip, "Will you, please, go with me to the annual school costume party on the 30th? And, uhm, maybe we could, uh, go trick-or-treating together the next day. I love to trick-or-treat..."_

_Jonathan felt the ice inside of him melt rapidly and he could not help but grin. Sherry had a special effect on him. "Do you mean that?"_

_She nodded enthusiastically and hugged him without warning, and in public. He was completely undone. Then, they were interrupted by none other than Bo Griggs._

"_You have got to be _kidding_ me, Sher!" Bo exclaimed and they both turned around to face Bo. Bo's face was lobster-red and expressed sheer rage. Bo walked towards them and Sherry shrank against Jonathan's thin frame. _

"_You going out with this...this _freak_?" Bo spat the words out and connected his right palm with Jonathan's shoulder, shoving him away viciously. _

_What happened next was a surprise to all, even to Jonathan. He let out a guttural groan and crashed himself into Bo, making the larger boy stagger and hit the lockers behind him. Jonathan grabbed Bo by the throat and inched his face to Bo's, their noses touching. Jonathan felt as if someone had possessed his body and reacted for him, but the feeling did not scare him; he was deeply delighted._

"_Touch me again, Bo," Jonathan snarled into the guy's chin, his voice an octave lower, "and you're going down. Do you understand?"_

_The intensity of Jonathan's ice blue eyes bored into Bo's, causing the bully extreme discomfort. Bo wanted to shove the skinny classmate away from him, but Jonathan kicked him in his sensitive area with full force, making Bo fall on his knees and cry out. The hallway was filled with surprised gasps._

"_I warned you, Bo," Jonathan said, leaning over Bo's body shivering with pain. _

_Jonathan's eyes met Sherry's and he could detect absolute pride in them. His head was throbbing with unusual pain, but his anger was slowly cooling down and he was starting to feel like himself again. He was punished with a week's detention, but it was all worth it._

_

* * *

_"_You are a lovely butterfly," Jonathan remarked as he and Sherry twirled on the dance floor. _

_She huffed. "I'm a _fairy_, Jon!"_

_He chuckled. "I know that, but it's so easy to tease you."_

"_Hey, you are not allowed to tease me. You didn't even show up in a costume! Although, I must say, this old tuxedo looks good on you, and the Converse shoes add their touch. Still, it's a _costume_ party, Jon."_

_He had his reasons for not wearing a costume. The insults and the taunts of his classmates had begun to reduce after the public incident with Bo Griggs, but he knew that he was still on fragile ground. He didn't want to give anyone any new reasons to renew the insults. _

"_Anyway, tomorrow I'm going as Dorothy. I'm always Dorothy. I don't even like the fairy costume," she spoke. "You should go as the Tin Man or the Scarecrow. Scarecrows are very spooky, you know. You could make quite an impression on people." She smiled sweetly._

"_I'll think about it," he replied and swirled her around. _

"_Oh, crap, Jon."_

"_What?" He frowned._

"_I suggested the Scarecrow," she replied guiltily. _

_He chuckled. "You should truly be ashamed of yourself."_

"_I am," she admitted with playful innocence, "but you know, I've always had a soft spot for Dorothy and the Scarecrow. They would make a great couple if people and scarecrows were allowed to date," she chuckled. _

_Jonathan stared at her. "Excuse me?"_

_Sherry's eyes sparkled with mysterious mischief. "I have an idea, Jon," she chirped and started dragging his tall, thin frame from the dance floor; she looked very petite next to him._

"_What is it?"_

"_It's a surprise," she replied and chuckled. _

_She led him out of the dance hall and into the janitor's closet room a few classrooms down the hall. The narrow room was pitch dark and crammed and they had to huddle together in order to stand normally. _

"_What is going on?" he asked her tensely, hating how he could not see her face._

"_I knew you were never going to do it first, so I decided to take emancipation more seriously and make the first move," she chuckled. He detected a nervous tone in her voice, but said nothing about it. After all, he was at least just as nervous as she was._

"_Can I kiss you?" she whispered, taking him aback completely._

"_Wh-what?" he stuttered, angry with himself for acting like a frightened little boy. He had been working hard on eradicating the frightened Jonathan from his core, but Sherry had a talent for making him feel so weak and dependent on her. _

"_Can I kiss you?" she asked him even more silently. He could tell she was extremely nervous, and so was he. _

_His hands started to grope the wall on his left for a switch and when his fingers found it, he turned the light on. The weak bulb illuminated Sherry's glowing face and she blinked several times at the unwelcome and unexpected onslaught of light._

"_Why did you do that?" she asked him. _

_Her cheeks were flushed and she looked even more beautiful this way. Jonathan smiled and was suddenly not nervous anymore. He felt incredibly comfortable and confident in a surreal sort of way. It was the way of the new Jonathan that was slowly beginning to emerge from his shell._

"_Well, I want to see your face when we kiss," he replied simply, feeling elated by his new, confident behaviour. A month ago, he would not have been able to act this way. Sherry was changing him._

"_Okay," Sherry agreed nervously and closed her eyes. _

_Before he knew it, their lips were touching gently and Sherry snaked her arms around his neck, deepening the kiss and making Jonathan fall into the vertigo of the newly-discovered passion. The feel of Sherry leaning against his chest, completely letting go, with his hands on her hips, was overwhelming. Her breath tickled his chin and invited him to go further, explore some more, much more. Suddenly, he pushed himself away from her, his back hitting the crammed shelves behind him painfully. _

"_That's enough, I think," he spoke, panting._

_Sherry looked strangely defeated and he did not like it, but this had to stop before he lost all semblance of self-control. He was a gentleman._

"_Why did you stop?" she asked him sadly. Why did she have to look so sad, so good? _

"_Because..." The truth or a lie? He didn't want to lie to her, but the truth might startle her. The truth was also very inviting and scary. It could change everything, or destroy everything. _

Just do it, Jonathan_, he heard a voice speak, inside his head. He panicked. Where did that come from?_

_Sherry put her hands onto his shoulders, sending a surge of electricity through him. _

_He simply blurted the words out. "Because I'm afraid I won't be able to control myself much longer."_

_She grinned. "Then don't. I don't want you to."_

_She turned off the light and kissed him again._

_

* * *

Jonathan was fumbling with his tie. _

"_Let me?" Sherry offered and began to arrange his tie properly, smiling all the while. _

_He gazed at her fondly, still unable to believe that mere minutes ago, she belonged to him so completely, so absolutely, just as he belonged to her. He was almost sad that he was not her first, but all that mattered was that she was his now._

_He took her head between his hands and kissed her deeply. He purred inwardly at how easily she responded to his touch now._

_In that perfect instant, the door of the closet room opened wildly and there stood a bulky man, his face hidden behind a paper Jack-o-Lantern mask. Sherry gasped and hid behind Jonathan._

"_Why so scared?" the masked man asked with a low voice and laughed. A group of other men appeared behind his back, all of them wearing Jack-o-Lantern masks. _

"_Time for payback, Scarecrow," the leader of the group, the one who opened the door, guffawed. "Where's your costume, huh?"_

"_Bo, stop that!" Sherry demanded from behind Jonathan's back. She recognized the man and so did Jonathan. Rage and resentment were already boiling in his veins. He was not afraid of Bo anymore. He hated Bo and wanted to see him suffer. He wanted to see Bo scream in fear of him and maybe, this would be the night. He would make sure the tables would be reversed._

"_Oh, come on, Sher, get your ass here. We have to do this together, baby. You promised."_

_Jonathan's arms twitched. He ventured a look at Sherry, silently asking her what Bo was talking about. _

"_I don't know what he's talking about," she said nervously, avoiding his eyes._

_Bo sighed. "Jesus, Sherry! We made a deal, you and I. What, you afraid to hurt this creep's feelings, all of a sudden?"_

_Without looking at Jonathan, Sherry stepped forward and joined Bo's side. Jonathan stared at her incredulously. _

"_I'm sorry, Jonathan," she said without looking at him and ran away from the group, the echoes of her running feet lashing Jonathan mercilessly. He could not believe this was happening. It could not be happening._

"_What, Cranezy?" Bo teased him. "Can't believe your girlfriend betrayed you?" He chuckled. "Well, she did, and she did it for me, so get over it."_

_How could she? Jonathan was not paying attention to Bo and his friends. All he could think about was Sherry, her betrayal, after all the beautiful things they had experienced together. She lied to him, used him, cast him aside after she proclaimed to be his so passionately. He tried to find any clues that he may have missed, but could find none. Sherry's deception was perfect. She thrust a knife into his back and ran away without another glance at him. _

_During the span of a few seconds, Jonathan's feelings had undergone titanic changes, from hurt to hatred. As much as he loved Sherry a few minutes ago, he now hated her._

The bitch.

_That voice again. He did not like that. Where was it coming from?_

Don't worry about 'the voice'. Focus on the promise you gave yourself. Focus on the hatred.

_Jonathan was really freaked out, but he swallowed the feeling and focused on the words echoing in his head, coming out of nowhere._

_Yes. He had promised to himself that no one would make fun of him again, but Sherry did; of all people, _she_ did._

That's right, Jonathan.

"_Look what I have," Bo said, snapping Jonathan out of his destructive ramblings. _

_Jonathan noticed that Bo was holding a taser in his hand. Jonathan's eyes widened involuntarily. Bo had the advantage. Damn it._

"_And now, you are going to run," Bo said and pushed Jonathan from the closet room into the hallway, "just like your pal Ichabod, and I'll be behind you," Bo grinned._

_Bo fired into the ceiling, sparks illuminating the hallway with electrical threat. Jonathan knew he was defeated...for now. He could not risk getting incapacitated by the taser; he might not survive Bo's fury this time. He was not afraid, only thinking logically. He could end up in a hospital again, or in a morgue, and he did not want to die before he gave Bo and Sherry a piece of his mind. He hated himself at the moment, but he would have to oblige Bo, just for tonight. Hoping that would satisfy Bo, he started to run away from the masked men._

"_Right behind you, Ichabod!" Bo screamed. _

_Jonathan turned around mid-run and saw a guy pass a carved pumpkin to Bo. Were they being serious? Jonathan guessed they were, as Bo started to chase him and threw the pumpkin after him. Jonathan underestimated Bo's strength; the pumpkin caught up with him and smashed across the back of his head. Jonathan staggered and fell to his knees._

_It was the ultimate humiliation._

_The image of Sherry danced through his mind, Sherry kissing him, Sherry betraying him, and all for Bo. It was a sick game she played on him. But tonight, he had had enough. This was the end of his patience, the end of his naivety. He would make them both go down, together. _

Oh, yes. That's it. I like that. Now, get up. Get up!

_He scrambled to his feet and afforded Bo a cold, murderous glance. Bo's gang laughed, amused, but Jonathan was happy to note that his look wiped the smirk off Bo's stupid face for a moment._

_He would show them who Jonathan Crane really was. He would do anything to become the man that had been lurking inside him for some time, now. He had no idea whether having a voice in your head was a good thing or not, but he would research that later. For now, he liked what the voice had been saying to him. He would listen to the voice's advice._

_

* * *

He threw a small stone at her bedroom window and she responded to the sound immediately. She opened the sash window and poked her head through it. She was dressed as Dorothy and she looked absolutely lovely and enticing, but he repressed those emotions as soon as they surged to the surface. No matter how lovely she looked, and no matter what she would say, she sealed her fate the previous night and there was no going around that._

_Her eyes widened as she saw him. "Oh God, Jonathan," she whispered. "I'll be with you in a minute. You wait right there."_

_She closed the window and Jonathan spoke to himself, "Oh, I'm not going anywhere tonight."_

_The entrance door opened and he heard someone shout, "Where are you going?"_

"_Out with Bo!" That was Sherry's voice. It surprised him that she lied, or perhaps, she _was_ meeting Bo later. It did not matter anymore. Her response worked just perfectly for him._

"_Be home by one!"_

"_Sherry!" A little girl's voice. Soft and sweet, slightly scared. This little girl did not want Sherry to leave. Well, too late, little girl. Say your goodbyes._

"_Love you, Pea! Bye!"_

_Sherry closed the door and ran towards him. She stopped about three steps away from him, her head lowered, her gaze focused on the red Dorothy shoes. After a while, her head snapped up and she dared to take a look at Jonathan._

"_You are wearing a costume," she said lamely. _

_It was true. He dressed up as the Scarecrow, just as Sherry had suggested twenty-four hours ago. The poorly-stitched burlap mask was in his hands. He thought that his attire was perfect for the night ahead of him. It all seemed very symbolic to him, and it was all connected to Sherry and her betrayal. She thought scarecrows were scary. Before she pretended to be his friend, she called him Scarecrow herself. It was all falling into place now. He would show her scary._

_He did not reply to her comment. He regarded her coolly, his intention to make her feel as uncomfortable as he possibly could._

"_Jonathan, we have to talk, I must explain what happened yesterday evening." She fidgeted with her fingers and tears had begun to trickle down her painted face. _

_He lifted his eyebrows deliberately. "Hm. I don't think you have to explain much. It was all very clear to me." _

"_Please, Jonathan. Things are not how they must have seemed to you yesterday." She regarded him miserably. "I'm in love with you, Jon."_

_Those words pricked him, but he ignored them. _

It is just one of her games, Jonathan.

"_Okay. Come to the carnival with me and you can explain everything on our way there."_

_He walked to his car and she was right behind him. Did she really trust him so much? She really should not have. Obviously, she thought she still held some sort of magical power over him, but she was wrong. Something snapped inside of him the previous night and there was no way to mend it, to make him believe her again._

_He started the engine and began to drive. She moved her hand close to his, touching him, but he shoved it away, not looking at her. A sob escaped her lips._

"_Can I explain?" she pleaded with him._

"_You can try," he responded and afforded her a cold smile. _

"_Okay, this is the truth. The day before the dance, Bo came to my home. He demanded that I step aside when he tried to take revenge because you humiliated him in front of the whole school. Of course I said I would do no such thing, but then he threatened me, Jonathan. The bastard threatened to expose my secret to my parents and I couldn't afford this to happen. Even when I threatened him back, that he was the one who beat you up, he was persistent. I agreed to step aside. This way, he could truly humiliate you, by making you think I abandoned you. I didn't know when or how he was going to do it, but I had to let him. He made it appear as if I had been back together with him, but that's not true. I'm sorry I'm such a coward...But...What happened between us, yesterday...I was sincere, Jonathan. You must have felt it."_

_Jonathan was battling with conflicting emotions. He wanted to believe her, change his plans with her, but he couldn't. He was afraid to trust her again. She was a poisonous viper. Her story seemed too far-fetched. And he had started to despise cowards._

"_What secret?" he asked coldly. _

_Sherry sniffed. "If I tell you, do you promise you won't say a word to anyone? If my parents find out, I'm dead."_

It's not your parents who will kill you_, he thought to himself bitterly. He would have to punish her. _

"_I promise," he said, but he did not mean it. His promise was useless._

"_Last year, I started dating Bo. He, uh...Well...I got pregnant and I had an abortion. He paid for it."_

_Jonathan's knuckles turned white as his fingers snaked around the steering wheel with renewed angry force. As they drove past Robinson Park, now deserted during the carnival hours, he changed his initial plan and stopped at the end of the park. He was so angry and upset that he could hardly think, let alone drive. He stepped out of the car and started to walk through the park, hoping to calm his rage. He heard her run after him and he almost hoped she would just return back to the car, or even better, run away to the safety of her home._

_He felt sick. Bo had had her, the same way Jonathan had her last night. He was no fool; he knew she and Bo were probably intimate. But she carried Bo's child for a while and that made him feel so very sick and he could not explain why. He envied Bo and he hated her for letting Bo get to her so deeply, in such a significant way. Last night felt like heaven before Bo came between them again. Always Bo, and she always responded. Now, the heaven of the previous night was just a rumour that she dispelled with cruelty and now, she was walking him through the nicest parts of hell. He was caught between the urge to kill her and the spasmodic desire he still felt for her, despite his resolution. He hated the power she had over him, the fact that he was still caught in her spell. _

Jonathan, focus_, the voice snarled. _

_She kept turning him into someone else and he didn't want that. He just wanted to be reborn the way he wanted it, not the way she wanted it, changing her mind every single day, driving him insane and insanely enraptured by her. She had to go, if not for the betrayal, then for the fact that he could not function properly in her presence anymore. He was so damn confused and he shouldn't be. He didn't want to be frightened anymore; he wanted to become quite the opposite._

Fearsome, Jonathan. I believe this is the word you are looking for.

_She caught up with him. Her fingertips touched his shoulders tentatively and that was enough. He turned around abruptly and crashed her petite form against his thin, tall frame. She gasped in surprise, but did not fight him. Her eyes spoke of trust and he was disgusted with it. He pushed her against the nearest tree violently, forcing her to yelp in pain, but she understood his actions the wrong way. Suddenly, her lips were on his, their softness brushing against his with painful awareness of his suppressed feelings for her, and her fingers raked through his hair, pulling him closer to her. _

"_Do you forgive me, Jon?" she gasped between their fervent kisses. _

Don't you dare forgive her. Don't you dare, Jonathan!

_He opened his eyes, looked at her, saw through her. "I found a way to wash it all aside."_

_Suddenly, he shoved her to the ground and as soon as her body made contact with the grass, he stepped over her, each foot on either side of her, his tall form looming above her._

_She looked up at him, fear swirling in her beautiful eyes. This excited him. He had noticed this before, that fear in others excited him and he did not question it or tried to suppress it. Why would he suppress something that made him feel stronger?_

"_J-Jonathan?" she stammered. _

_He crunched down, the insides of his thighs touching the upper sides of hers. "Are you afraid?" he asked. _

_She nodded. "Why are you doing this?"_

"_I can't believe that what I feel is finally happening to me," he responded._

_She was crying. "I don't understand you!"_

"_Of course you don't. How could you? But believe it or not, you are responsible in great measure for the way I feel now."_

_Her breath hitched in her throat. "H-How do you feel?"_

_He smiled. "Powerful. You know, a few hours ago, I was afraid to hurt you, to frighten you, but I discovered the power that comes with it and I like it. I don't want to let go of that power. It makes me feel...fearsome. I've always yearned for this, every time I was insulted and bullied, and now I found it. I'm sorry it has to be you. I truly am."_

_She started to wriggle beneath him, but he was stronger than he looked. "Jonathan, don't hurt me to prove a point or to feel powerful!" she pleaded. "I love you! Don't you love me back?"_

_The words spilled out like fire from her lips. _

"_Oh, no, don't try to play games with me, Sherry. I am determined."_

"_Determined?" she screamed at him. "To kill me and ruin your life? No, no!" she started screaming. "I won't let you take _my_ life from me! It's not yours to end!"_

_He fished leather gloves from the pocket of his costume, put them on and clammed one strong gloved hand over her shouting mouth._

"_Please, don't scream."_

_Her fear had turned into terror. She had never looked more beautiful in his eyes and he had never felt more powerful. He was in a daze; he hardly knew what he was doing. The plan was to frighten her, make every fibre of her body quiver with fear. He felt inspired and he pulled the mask over his head. Her terror kept him going; he wanted more of it, more. It was so delightful, so exciting, so powerful. His fingers kept on pressing and pressing. Someone else was afraid now and he was the one who was fearsome. He was not the poor, frightened boy anyone could bully. He stood up to his oppressors. He smelt their fear, _her_ delicious dear, and relished in it. _

_He was the boss. He was in control and he would never again let anyone else to try to control him. He had Sherry to thank for that._

"_Sherry?"_

_He looked down because she was not moving beneath him anymore. Her eyes were open wide, but they seemed strangely still, so...dead. Sherry was dead. He had just killed her, suffocated her. He actually stepped over the edge, turned life into death. He expected to feel shocked, sick, but nothing came._

Complimenti, Jonathan.

"_I'm so sorry, Sherry," he murmured, pressing his feverish forehead against her cold head. "But you could never understand..."_

_He shed a tear, but no more. Now he was justified; purified; sanctified. _

_He was starting to tread the path of winners._

_

* * *

He left her body in the park; he wanted it to be found. She told her family she was going out with Bo and Bo would be the suspect. _

_Killing Bo was easy. He caught him unprepared, scared his brains out with Bo's own taser. He scared the big, tough, burly Bo, and then he hurt him repeatedly with the power of electricity. It was such a great triumph. _

_He had the guts to drive to the Narrows, risk his life. He took Bo's car. He was lucky; no sign of criminals. He buried Bo in the Narrows, into the mud that used to be a green field. He left Bo's car by the abandoned field and set it afire. It was nice to watch it burn. Then, he ran from the Narrows, pumped by the incredible feeling of power. _

_It was all over the news the other day. A girl, Sherry Squires, was found murdered in Robinson Park and the main suspect was Bo Griggs, her ex-boyfriend, who disappeared so conveniently. _

_It was his first victory and it was only the beginning._

_On that day, Jonathan Crane was reborn, like a phoenix from the ashes. He had a great idea for his life that was ahead of him. _

_

* * *

_The ripple in him was definitely gone. His confidence returned, and so did his resolution. He smiled to himself.

He was ready.

He opened the briefcase and looked at the burlap mask fondly. He had kept the mask.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Why did I describe Sherry's murder more than I did Bo's? In case this didn't come across, in the end, Jonathan's hatred was mostly focused on Sherry, as he had feelings for her. Bo came second. In my mind, Bo was just a bully that had to be killed, but Sherry was the core of it all. All Jonathan had in mind was, really, to get rid of his greatest weakness. I want you to know that the teenager Jonathan did not suddenly become the Jonathan Crane we know now. The end of this chapter snapped something inside him and made room for the changes. As 16 years have passed, you can imagine that Jonathan has had more than enough time to become the man we know now. As this is not an origins story and I won't be digging up his past that much, I just wanted to point this out.


	5. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

**/ \**

Pearl was lying in her bed, staring at the ceiling stretching above her, waiting for the arrival of Morpheus, all in vain. She sighed in irritation and pulled the cover over her head, hoping to cloak herself in complete darkness, but her eyes remained open. Every time she closed them to bring sleep closer, the treacherous lids lifted as if of their own free will. Every compartment of her mind was filled with numerous thoughts and memories.

Her first day at the asylum, her dead sister, Dom, even Dr Crane. She snorted as she thought about her employer. She had been working at Arkham for ten days now, and she had been deftly avoiding the doctor in question ever since the day she was accosted by poor George Hardy. It was cowardly behaviour on her part and she was fully aware of it. It was also ironic, as her cowardice implied that there was a small amount of fear involved in it, and her boss was an expert on fear, or so one could judge by his scientific articles. But mostly, it was a sort of disdain and defiance. She resented his coldness, indifference, arrogance and sense of superiority. He _was_ her superior, in fact, but that was beside the point. It was the air of vain superiority hovering about him that she did not like, the way he simply dismissed her from his office without another word, her only companion his gentle threat. She did not respond to threats well and it influenced her work. She knew that the smallest possible mistake would send her flying from the asylum, and although she had behaved and worked perfectly ever since the day she upset George Hardy, her insides were all jittery and her mind felt like an echoing blur.

Her mind drifted to the faceless silhouette, her greatest fear, and she did not want that. She had begun to feel suffocated under the thick cover, so she threw it off her body completely and got up. There was no use trying to fall asleep anymore; she could feel that tonight, nocturnal rest was out of the question, as was a semblance of a sort of Elysian peace she had tried to take a hold of ever since she lay her head on the pillow hours ago. She was almost happy that next week, she would start her night shifts. She had always had a preference for night shifts. As an insomniac, she only relished in sleep during the day. Nights were often a torture. Oh, she had her nights when she actually fell asleep, but those rare occasions were often drug-induced and she liked to avoid taking sleeping pills. One Lorazepam in the morning was enough. She had always tried to avoid taking unnecessary medications. Her daily dosage of Lorazepam and an occasional aspirin were all she wanted to need.

She headed for the bathroom, washed her face and brushed her teeth, and took a Lorazepam. Then, she got dressed for work and arranged her hair in a neat, thick bun. As she was making coffee, she noticed that the kitchen clock showed 6:30 in the morning. She huffed in annoyance and shoved a piece of toast in her mouth. Time was ticking away so very slowly. She had an hour left before she had to head for work. No matter, she finished her breakfast quickly, took her purse and left the apartment. It would not be the first time she would show up for work early. If nothing else, she could have another breakfast in the cafeteria reserved for the staff. She could start reading the book she borrowed in a library yesterday and was still waiting in her purse. Maybe she could watch a National Geographic show on the cafeteria's TV. For some reason, the nurses from her floor loved to watch the National Geographic channel and that amused her.

Pearl started her car and began to drive towards the Narrows. She could still not understand why the asylum was situated on the outskirts of the Narrows, in the so-called "safer" part of the criminal wonderland, but there was no logic to it, and no changing it. As soon as she reached the Narrows, her foot hit the gas pedal more fiercely. She hated to drive through the Narrows; it scared her to the bone, always sent a chilling, creeping feeling down her spine. Once she reached the parking lot for the staff, she exhaled deeply. No reason to be afraid or nervous any longer. Dr Crane's metallic black Lexus LS 460 was already there, parked on its usual place. Pearl huffed as she locked her car. She knew doctors could earn a lot of money, but not the doctors at Arkham. Their salaries were mediocre. She had her theories about the Lexus, but whenever they began to emerge, she shut them out. She really did not want to concern herself with Crane too much. The fact that she spent a sleepless night thinking about him was irking enough.

She met Nurse Smith on her way to the cafeteria. Angela Smith was her favourite co-worker and they were becoming good friends. Angela beamed a smile at Pearl. Although she had just finished her night shift, Angela was in a very good mood and all smiles, as she always was.

"Hey, Pearl!" Angela greeted her. "You're early! Wanna keep me some company? I really need a cup of coffee before I leave. I hate night shifts."

Pearl smiled. "Sure."

Angela started to explain about the uneventful night. The fourth floor was quite an uneventful part of the asylum. With the exception of Pearl's fierce first encounter with George Hardy, nursing the inmates on the fourth floor was a very calm occupation. The fourth floor featured only patients who had no criminal record. The patients all suffered from quite severe mental illnesses, but they were surprisingly easy to handle. They seemed strangely subdued. The worst cases, Victor Zsasz among them, were situated in a special secure wing of Arkham. Pearl hoped that one day, she would have the chance to work there. Working with those patients would be good for her career, although they seemed scary to many. She simply believed that a challenge would do her life some good. Besides, there was also her morbid curiosity, and she refused to feel guilty about it.

As Pearl waited for Angela to bring them their desired cups of coffee, she took a look at a group of nurses on a break. She smiled to herself; of course, they were watching a National Geographic documentary. Pearl lifted her gaze to see what was keeping them captivated and when her eyes connected with the images on the screen, her insides twisted painfully and froze.

She rose to her feet jerkily and began to back away with spasmodic movements. She could not think; suddenly and immediately, her mind was absolutely possessed by fear. She stared at the screen, her only desire to look away, to shut down the horror, but something wicked would not afford her to find comfort for herself. She began to breathe heavily, panting, and a sickness began to stir in her stomach, grunting and stretching towards her lungs. Her chest felt as though it had begun to contract and her skin was on fire. Her palms had grown cold and sweaty, and the tips of her fingers felt charged with electricity. She could not swallow; her throat was so very dry and her windpipe suddenly felt as narrow as a piece of thin straw. She could feel herself gasp for air and the world was spinning around her like a blurry rainbow.

Finally, she managed to close her eyes, but it was too late. She could feel, almost see the creatures crawl up her legs and she screamed in agony as she imagined one little monster dance in her mouth. She was shaking and tears were streaming down her face. She felt Angela by her side, shaking her by her shoulders, but she could not respond. She was trapped in her own personal Hades, unable to escape. Angela's questions echoed in her head, chafed against her brain painfully.

Pearl snaked her fingers into her perfectly arranged hair and shook her head.

"Get them away from me!" she screamed and started to slap her arms and legs to chase them away, the crawling, hairy, fat, evil little creatures. So many legs, so many eyes, disgusting, awful, all over her...

"Turn off the TV!" Angela exclaimed, her words intended for the group of nurses watching television. "I'm pretty sure she has a severe case of arachnophobia." Then, she grabbed Pearl by her fidgety hands. "Come on, sweetie, let's go get you some fresh air, okay? Don't think about spiders. Try to, uh, I don't know...Think about flowers, okay?"

Pearl could hardly walk. She was dragging her feet behind her like two heavy boulders. She kept her eyes closed. Angela had to lead the way carefully.

As Pearl finally opened her eyes, she saw Dr Crane walking towards her with determined steps. Drops of reason began to water her dry mind and she stopped.

_He mustn't see me like this, not him._

It was the one coherent thought she was capable of forming. But he was already there, by her side, saying something to Angela, something her ears were unable to register at the moment. His blue eyes seemed so huge, but clear. They seemed to invade everything around her and Pearl welcomed the notion. She held on to their image and thought about nothing else but his eyes. She chose them as the point of her focus, surprisingly and unexpectedly. The colour blue began to seep into her and lead her away from her daylight nightmare, slowly, but definitely. She was still trembling and sobbing, but now she had an anchor, a voucher that she would not drift away and be left deserted on the terrible shores of Hades.

He said another thing to Angela and then, one warm hand took one of her cold hands into his, and the other one settled on the small of her back, pushing her, forcing her to walk forward.

Pearl let go.

* * *

She was such a mess, and she revealed her secrets to him sooner than he had anticipated. As he was headed to the head of security, his intention to explain a small change to the man in person, she appeared before him all of a sudden; beautiful blond curls dishevelled, her bun ruined, blue grey eyes open wide, too wide, tears spilling from them like small waterfalls.

At first, he stopped mid-walk, momentarily stunned by the unexpected tableau unfolding before his eyes. Pearl Jones was _terrified_; so much so that she could not function at all. Her body was a cage and inside it, there was Pearl, locked up and all alone, prey to her fears, unable to break free on her own. He ventured a small smile. Now he had her.

He assumed a mask of seriousness and hurried to the side of Nurse Jones, perusing her suffering face and shivering hands with his eyes.

He addressed Nurse Smith, his voice cold and severe. "Why is Nurse Jones having a panic attack at this instant?"

The face of Nurse Smith showed severe concern. She leaned towards Dr Crane and whispered, "She saw a tarantula on television, Dr Crane. I think that set her off."

Arachnophobia? Very interesting, especially since for her, it seemed to be a severe case of the phobia. He held back a smile. This was not the place to show his inner pleasure at the mere thought of Pearl Jones's condition.

He looked into her eyes, but it felt like looking through a hole. She was not there at the moment. He had made the following decision before he looked into her eyes.

"Nurse Smith, I will take it from here."

He did not wait for a reply; he did not have to, as it was not his obligation. He took one of Nurse Jones's cold, limp hands into one of his own and pushed her forward with mild force. She took a slow step forward, shaky and uncertain, like a toddler's. He prodded her again, this time his hand pressing harder against the small of her back.

"Pearl," he spoke firmly, knowing that using her given name would strike a chord with her sooner in her state of the moment. "Walk."

Finally, he was met with success. She began to walk forward, with small and even steps. By the time they reached his office, which took them a considerable amount of time, spent in complete silence, she had lost the look of an entranced zombie; life was beginning to return into her eyes, a tell-tale sign that she was becoming aware of her surroundings. He had been watching her face the entire time for the smallest of changes, his scientific eye and curiosity refusing to miss any important detail.

An interesting thought occurred to him. When he had used the toxin on her, and he _would_, who would she become? He was aware of three types of reactions to his toxin. The most common one was screaming to the point of complete abandon. The other one, less common, was silent, wide-eyed horror, lips mouthing words of unspoken fears. And then, there was the one he liked best, a rare jewel of fear, so rare it was almost nonexistent. The body froze, eyes closed and the person seemed serene, but inside, Hell was raging, a hell so great that it exhausted every single cell of the body. The only sign of torment was a shivering lip here, or a twitching finger there, no more, but the suffering was great. Fear consumed the person from within entirely, completely, like fire. It paralyzed them. The mind could only take so much. One _could_ die out of fear.

So far, it seemed that Pearl Jones was a combination of the first two, with a preference for the second reaction, but he wondered if her fears could excel in the direction he liked best.

Once in his office, he had her sit down on a comfortable sofa he kept in a corner, and he sat down on a chair, close to her side.

"Pearl?" He called her by her name again. He waited patiently.

She lifted her head slowly and looked straight into his eyes. Now, her blue grey orbs were lucid and contained a semblance of reason. She was freeing herself of her fear and would feel recovered soon. Her hands were still shaking visibly, but she seemed to be over the worst. Still, he decided to offer her a retreat, if only to see how she would respond.

"May I offer you a Xanax, Pearl?" he asked.

Interestingly, her eyes widened for a second. "No, thank you," she responded with a silent, shaky voice. She sighed and began to stroke her messy hair, trying to make herself decent.

"The last time I took a Xanax, I thought I was going to die. I had a bad reaction to it."

He nodded, still assessing her. "How are you feeling?"

She cleared her throat. "Better."

She seemed to be looking for the right words and he allowed her to take her time. He was interested in what she had to say. And at long last, she spoke.

"Thank you so much, Dr Crane," she said earnestly, although now, she mostly avoided his eyes. She seemed to feel ashamed. She was ashamed of the exposure. "Thank you for taking me away from...The walk really helped me calm down."

He nodded again. "How long have you been suffering from an anxiety disorder?"

She seemed surprised by his question and he could guess why. He could imagine her thoughts saying, "I'm afraid of spiders and he knows there's more to it than just a phobia?"

This time, he did venture a smile. "You see, Nurse Jones, your panic attack would be an obvious sign to any psychiatrist. I may be guessing this, but I am ready to assume that your extreme fear of spiders is only part of your anxieties. Arachnophobia on its own is nothing. It is quite a dull fear. What makes it so poignant and important to the sufferer is its true meaning. Its origin. The reason you are a victim to an anxiety disorder."

He was gratified by disbelief flickering in her eyes.

"What medications are you on, if I may be so bold as to ask, Nurse Jones?"

She cleared her throat. Disbelief was still there. "Uh, one...one Lorazepam in the morning. I've been, uhm, taking those since I was sixteen."

"You never stopped the treatment?"

"Nor do I intend to!" she retorted. Her fierce reply surprised him a little. It was intriguing.

"That is," she continued in a calmer tone, her cheeks glowing with discomfort, "I did _once_, but I felt very bad afterwards, so I started taking them again. I don't even know I swallow a pill a day. But I sure know if I don't. You know?"

"Of course. And have you been treated for arachnophobia?"

She nodded. "Yes, of course, I attended a few therapy sessions. But when it came to the point when I was supposed to see a spider for real and touch it, I backed away. I won't do it. Ever. I can't."

Dr Crane was becoming more and more impressed by her. She was one scared little nurse. She seemed like a fragile, little girl to him, trying desperately to be seen and regarded as a woman. She pretended to be independent and strong, and he believed that to a certain point she was, but she craved protection. He wondered if that was the reason why she married so young. He had seen her wedding band.

It was time for another subtle inquiry. At the moment, she trusted him, had answered all of his questions and said even more than her words suggested with her behaviour.

"Is your husband understanding about your situation?"

He could see that she resented his question. It was amusing.

"I do not see how my husband has anything to do with this," she snapped.

Oh, yes, her husband was another sore spot. He remained silent, waiting for her to say more. She pretended to be insulted, that her husband was none of his business, but he knew she _would_ say more. He was right.

"Uh...my husband died last year. Leukaemia." She lowered her head and concentrated on playing with her fingers.

Suddenly, her features grew severe and she met him with accusation glowing in her eyes. Her irises had become very intense in colour, a stormy surface, the blue and the grey mixing in an angry swirl.

"Is this a therapy session, Dr Crane? Are you going to charge me for it?"

Her unexpected reaction shook his balance a little, but he recovered immediately. It was nothing he could not handle.

He smiled. "Of course not. Neither, Nurse Jones. Consider my inquiries a professional habit. I apologize."

She huffed. "Good. Apology accepted."

Did she just say that? Oh, she definitely did. She was a piece of work.

"You hate it when people try to see through you," he stated matter-of-factly.

Her jaw dropped a little, but she, too, recovered quickly this time. She was ready to be defiant, he could tell.

"Yes, I do. I like my privacy. I like to keep my secrets to myself. With all due respect, Dr Crane, you may be my employer, but I do not see how my phobias and issues can be relevant to you. As long as I do my job..."

_You have no idea how relevant they truly are._

He stared at her in wonder. She was such an interesting human being. She was afraid, and yet she had what he liked to call spunk.

She stood up, prompted by his stare. "Okay, let's get this over with." She set her arms akimbo.

Now he was genuinely confused. "I beg your pardon?"

She began to talk, without a pause. "Don't pretend you are not curious. Curiosity pays your rent and buys your food, doctor. Here I am, in a nutshell. My beloved sister was murdered when I was eight. That has affected me very much. It truly hit me when I was sixteen, for one reason or another, my mother's sudden death probably acting as the final drop, and at that age I started to have panic attacks. It gets better. After my sister's death, I suddenly started to fear spiders. You do the math. I married my best friend because he was sick and because it was his wish to marry before he died. He was not in love with anyone, and neither was I, so I thought it would be a good thing to do him a favour. That's who I am. Meet Pearl Jones! Will you, _please_, stop analysing me now? I can't..."

She was in tears, yet this time, it was not due to her fears. It was her inner agony, her immense loneliness, which was pouring out from her eyes, screaming from help which she had rejected time and again. She crumbled to the sofa and covered her entire face with the palms of her hands. She was ashamed of her outburst, but not strong enough to recover again.

He peeled her hands off her face with his fingers, breaking her personal space, one of his preferred methods of communicating with his patients. She whimpered and attempted to struggle, but his bigger, stronger hands enveloped hers completely. His face moved closer to hers, his eyes boring into hers. She winced and that pleased him. Proximity scared her. _He_ scared her.

"If you detest analysis of yourself so much, Nurse Jones," he spoke with cold softness, "if you cherish you privacy so much, why did you speak so frankly to me a few seconds ago?"

She seemed transfixed for a moment, but not for long. She shook her head. "As imperfect creatures, we are all entitled to committing occasional mistakes. Can I, please, go back to work, Dr Crane?"

She was back to her snappy self.

He considered her question for a moment, then released her hands. He would have to be patient.

"You may go."

She hurried to the door, but her hand hovered above the handle. She turned around a little. He could see her profile, but her eyes avoided his.

"It suddenly seemed pointless," she spoke silently, "to hide myself from you, no matter what I'd said. You already saw too much, anyway. I trust you'll keep everything to yourself, Dr Crane."

She opened the door and disappeared from his sight.

Crane was truly baffled. Her reactions kept changing so rapidly, and although he had a pattern he could follow, she still surprised him. Amazingly enough, he was indirectly responsible for the way she felt in the present time; for the way she had felt for years. He made that happen.

He could imagine how she had promised herself time and again that she would never reveal her secrets to anyone, but time and time again, her resolve slipped and she allowed people to read her. She allowed him to see her. Pearl had said enough, and one thought pervaded his mind. Her naive honesty opened a door for him, a door that led inside her soul.

_I've got you, Pearl._


	6. Chapter 5

This chapter features a tribute to one of Cillian Murphy's characters. Can you detect it?

* * *

**CHAPTER 5**

**/ \**

Pearl was immensely grateful that Dr Crane's obligations to the court kept him away for the next three days. She cringed at the idea of meeting him after her colourful display of emotions in his office just a day ago. She could not believe the things she performed before his scrutinizing eyes; she cried, she revealed herself, she showed her fears to the man who devoted his professional life to researching fear and phobias.

She swore inwardly, imagining the snarling, dirty world roll off her tongue to ease the wounds of her exposure. That was the origin, the reason of her new distress. A few days ago, she resented Crane for being such a stiff lip. Now, she resented him for something completely different, and it was _all_ her _damn_ fault. She was exposed, and she felt so very vulnerable and fragile.

Why should it matter that her employer knew a few things about herself? But it did, it did matter, as much as the ultimate ascension mattered to the souls of Sheol.

She veered her frenzied thoughts in a new direction. Why was it of any importance that Dr Crane knew her secrets? Her previous boss, Dr Eva Ford, knew. Her friends knew and it did not matter. Dominic knew even more and it deepened their friendship. Crane knew and it sent her entire self reeling. Practically every nurse in the asylum knew that Nurse Jones had had a panic attack because she suffered from arachnophobia. She hated the exposure and it actually hurt her to look them in the eyes, but she did and nothing horrible happened because she did. Everything flowed forward smoothly, as if nothing had ever occurred. No one judged her, no one pitied her, no one treated her any differently. She was ashamed, mortified, but she would get by.

"It happens," everyone would say. Yes, things happened.

But the fact that Crane knew, the fact that he knew what everyone else knew and more, the possibility that his intelligent, experienced mind detected morsels of herself she did not wish anyone to know, unnerved her to the point of quavering distraction.

_Why?_

For three days, she had been coming to work in a state of nervous fright and shame, hoping she could avoid meeting him. Whenever she saw his Lexus was not in the parking lot, her insides would untangle and she would breathe normally again.

She dedicated herself to her work completely. She wanted to prove to everyone that she was capable of doing her job properly, in case anyone believed that having an anxiety disorder meant that one was useless. She wanted to be buried in her work, no less. She liked the occupation; it distracted her from herself.

"You look a bit pale," Nurse Donnelly spoke, pulling Pearl from her little world as they were changing sheets in Richard Poe's cell. The patient, Richard Poe, was sitting between two orderlies as Nurse Jacobs injected him with his weekly dose of medications.

Pearl winced slightly; the sudden, unexpected intrusion into her world startled her, but she managed a smile. "I've been pale-faced for as long as I can remember, actually," she replied kindly. It was a lie, but an innocent one.

She tried to change the subject of their conversation. "Wait, just to recap...Richard Poe, diagnosed with DID. How many distinct identities has he displayed?"

Nurse Donnelly frowned, trying to remember. "Uh...I'm not sure. Our asylum psychiatrists only tell us as much as we need to know to properly nurse the patients. But I believe I've heard Dr Crane mention to Dr St Clair that Poe has about ten different personalities. Quite a lot of people in one human body, hm? He's simply Richard Poe now that he's been taking his medications for a while, but every now and then, he experiences a relapse, despite the medications."

"Hm," Pearl responded and looked at Richard Poe with sympathy.

Nurse Donnelly continued. Once she was offered a chance to speak, she could not be stopped.

"I've seen him as Patrick and as Kitty," she chuckled.

Pearl looked at her in disbelief. "A female?"

Of course Pearl knew that was possible; she had been avidly reading all sorts of books on psychology. She was only surprised; theory was one thing, practice was far more exciting. She felt guilty that she considered a patient's state of mind to be exciting. She bit her lower lip heavily, in punishment.

"Sure. Patrick is a grumpy old man, hates everything and everyone, likes to swear. Kitty is a charming young lady, likes to dance, and sing, but she's out of tune."

Pearl smiled despite herself. "Amazing."

"Well," Nurse Donnelly added, "he's not so charming when he's not on his medications. It's happened once since I started to work here. Somehow, the medications lost their effect and all of his personalities burst out of him, one after another, with only a bare minute of pause between them. All of them were agitated, which was interesting, because his identities differ, you know. Some are calm, some angry, some charming, but then, all of them were anguished, and kept screaming the word scarecrow for some reason. Very strange, I tell you."

An uncomfortable, dreadful sensation crawled down Pearl's spine. "Scarecrow?" she repeated, wondering, remembering a short, blurry snippet from her childhood. The faceless silhouette, the boogey-man of her dreams...

"Alright, we're done here," Nurse Jacobs announced. "Oh, Pearl, I forgot to bring Loxapine with me, for James Morton. Could you get it? You remember the prescribed dose, right?"

Pearl was very grateful for the interruption. She nodded eagerly, almost too eagerly, which made her curse at herself inwardly. She was a fast learner. Loxapine, for James Morton, schizophrenia. Yes, she remembered.

She ran towards the room where they kept all the medications for the fourth and the fifth floors. She knew how their head nurse appreciated quick response, efficiency and punctuality, so Pearl always found herself running around to complete her chores as soon as possible, even when Nurse Clarke was not around.

She turned the last corner fast and crashed. It happened so fast, she hardly knew what happened at first. Her body hit another body with full force and for a moment, time slowed down rapidly and stood still for a second, her body strangely frozen to the warm entity of another human being. Then, as quickly as they had become one forceful mass, their limbs disentangled and Pearl flew to the ground, landing on her side, emitting a strangled, squealing sound from her throat.

She heard the other person groan, a man's voice. The male silhouette stood up from the ground and she turned her face fully towards the unfortunate victim of her rushing, apology waiting on the tip of her tongue. As she saw the man, identified him and fully understood who exactly he was, apology died on her tongue and her jaw dropped in painful realization.

"Dr Crane," she gasped. She breathed in fast, but forgot to breathe out for several long seconds until her body, on its own accord, finally forced her to release the inhaled air out in an echoing shudder.

He did not seem pleased, not at all. His blue orbs became two cold, deep oceans trapped in a storm, and inside that storm, helpless and fragile, sat Pearl, in the calm eye, threatened to be devoured by the walls of the thunder. She watched the blue become white ice and it filled up a hole in her soul that was reserved for fear. She stared at him, tempted to close her eyes, to shut her ears, to shut herself out, but she remained frozen on her spot, anticipating his reaction.

Suddenly, his eyes became blue again and he stretched out his hand for her, surprising her to the core of her being. She accepted his hand automatically and he pulled her up with no difficulty, making her feel like a puppet on strings. She could almost hear the cracking of her skin peeling apart at the sensation. Her skin was hurt by the touch of her fingers between his, and begging for the touch at the same time.

_Begging for the touch? _

She did not know what to do. She could not pull away. Every excuse for prolonging the touch turned to a lie, and it was too late to cover her eyes. She bowed her head, but it felt like a confession of something she did not know and comprehend, and the discomfort itched the skin on her back with painful awareness.

She felt truly alive and it terrified her. She felt drunk just a few seconds later.

_Maybe I am truly messed up, after all._

He broke the contact that lasted for only a few second, four, maybe five at the most, she forgot to count.

"Nurse Jones," he spoke coldly, "please, watch your step."

She blinked the tears away. Was she really on the verge of bursting into a fit of crying?

_Tainted. _That was how she felt now.

"Nurse Jones!" He allowed himself to speak louder, his tone stern and uncompromising.

_The blue eyes..._

She winced. "Dr Crane, I'm so sorry," she responded shakily, barely able to talk. "I _am_ sorry."

"If you intend to feel sorry every day, you can say goodbye to your position. Your erratic and clumsy behaviour gives you no credit, Nurse Jones," he retorted.

She nodded, trembling. "It...won't happen...again..." she choked out.

"I very much hope so." He pressed his lips together in contained anger.

She was saved by Dr St Clair's arrival. St Clair, Dr Crane's closest co-worker, ignored Pearl. He was one of those doctors who believed they stood much above nurses, and nurses were only good for him when a patient vomitted and someone had to clean up the mess.

"Dr Crane, shall we form a plan for Zsasz's rehabilitation now? "

"Yes," Crane replied coldly and they walked away, leaving Pearl alone without another glance back, without another word.

She leaned against the wall behind her and slid down its smooth white surface. She began to cry. How could life be so cruel to her, after all she had been through? This place was beginning to consume her, destroy her, so fast, right at the beginning, so unexpectedly. Her soul was starting to feel sick and it was too weak to fight back, to eradicate the first roots of the new feeling before it touched her core. The lines were beginning to blur and she knew that the longer she stayed at Arkham, the more unclear things were going to get for her.

_When did it start? How did it happen?_

She was full of cracks, drifting into the abstract.

_How could it happen? _

She was so sure she did not like him. She admired him once, devoured his written word like the most delicious food in the world, and then, when she met him in person, she did _not_ like him anymore. But it was something different, something darker and stronger, this thing she felt. It was a need, for him, for that touch. She had never felt this way about anyone before.

_Oh, God..._

_I want to die..._

She tried to remember Dominic, her sweet Dom, her best friend, her husband. They met when they were both sixteen, the same year her father and she moved to Sacramento after her mother's tragic death in a car accident. Dom was her soul mate, her pillar of strength, her saviour, her everything, and despite the fact that they were married for three years, she never fell in love with him. It would have been absolutely perfect for them, the marriage, their lives, everything, if they had fallen in love with each other, but their marriage was a favour of one friend to another, a confirmation of how much they meant to each other. It was love, but it was not _love_.

When Dom stopped responding to the prescribed treatment, her world fell apart for the fifth time in her life. By then, she had experienced five moments of time when her entire being shut down because of an agony and she fell apart. The meaning of falling apart was more complex than the words allowed. It was not a common sort of sadness, a sense of failure, disappointment, loss. It was a tragedy of the soul, the knowledge that one's soul lost a meaningful, significant part of itself for ever. A chunk of one's being died, and there was only so much one could give and sacrifice to tragedy.

She was falling apart for the seventh time.

Sherry's murder.

Mom's car accident.

Daddy's stroke.

Dom's news that he'd been diagnosed with leukaemia.

Dom's news that he'd stopped responding to treatment.

Dom's death.

And now, the seventh plague.

_Crane._

Why couldn't it have been Dom? Why couldn't it have been _any_ other man?

Her reason reminded her that she had a job to do, so she forced herself to get up, bring Loxapine to Nurse Jacobs and get her work done with the rest of the patients. Time dripped by slowly, so slowly, too slowly. Faces, words and events drifted past her, skimmed the surface of her mind, but did not stay there. She smiled her blank smiles to appease the expectations of people around her, nodded when it was necessary, and gave a vague reply or two, like a normal person would.

And then, Nurse Donnelly gave her a simple task, because she was a new nurse. Such a simple task; such a feat for her. It made her heart tremble, just the notion that she would have to see him, maybe even talk to him, so soon, when she had not even recovered from the realization.

She ran to the staff toilets, made sure no one was in there and positioned herself in front of the mirrors, emitting a deep, moaning sigh from her contracted lungs. Maybe, if she said it aloud, the uncomfortable truth might go away. Maybe, it was all just an illusion, some sort of strange reaction to the events that had passed lately, like the public display of her fear.

She took a deep breath and whispered to her reflection in the mirror, so very hopefully.

_If I say it aloud, it will go away._

"You fell in love for the first time in your life. It's not real, no biggie. You'll be fine in a minute."

Nothing was different, the feeling was still there.

"It's probably just some sort of stupid type of sick infatuation."

_Say it all, and then it will go away. Try. It _will_ go away. It has to._

She took another hopeful look at her reflection.

"You fell in love with...Crane."

Her heart sank.

* * *

Crane snapped his cell phone shut and looked at Dr St Clair sitting across his desk, looking every bit as smug as ever. Crane hated the smugness of St Clair, his comfortable posture of superiority, his hedonistic nature. But St Clair was his partner in crime, his assistant, approved by the boss himself, so Crane was stuck with the man.

"Was it him?" Jeremy St Clair asked as Crane finished the phone call.

"It was," Crane replied evenly. "We can start on Monday."

"Two days from today? That's nice." St Clair smiled, then chuckled, seemingly at a private joke that he soon shared with Crane. "Zsasz and the rest of the lot will sure be enjoying their rehabilitation. Lucky them!"

Crane didn't find the supposed joke funny; he took this business very seriously. He would have to make sure that Gotham's water supplies would get contaminated with his improved toxin and nothing – and that meant _absolutely_ _nothing_ – was allowed to go wrong.

"I told Falcone to take care of our problem," Crane commented instead.

St Clair sighed. "Ah, Miss Dawes! Too bad she is such a nosy-parker. She's really cute, you know." He winked.

Crane groaned inwardly and wished he could use the toxin on the idiot poking fun at everything. He couldn't remember anymore why he deemed St Clair appropriate for the job, worthy of the position as his assistant. All he knew was that St Clair was the kind of man who would sell his soul to the Devil himself for money. As their boss was no miser, they could count on the greedy St Clair.

Crane smiled to himself. Gotham meant absolutely nothing to him. It was just a city, and people were just people, yet another massive group of crows. He was involved in the business of that mystical idealist for the fun of it, for the excitement and the pleasure, not for the money. He wanted to see the whole city go crazy at the same time. It would be a feast for the eyes, and for the soul, and he could hardly wait for the day when it would finally happen. He would walk among them, the lost and the helpless, like a god of fear, completely untouchable. He would try to spice up their experience of complete abandon and dread.

And then, he would simply move to another city, and start anew after a while. Gotham would be in ruins, therefore hiding from the hand of justice or assuming a new identity would not be necessary. It was not his style, anyway. He would simply start to play a new game. He was good at playing with people.

He would not label himself as a misanthrope, exactly, but he did hate people. Maybe not all people, but definitely Gotham. Gotham made the first seventeen years of his life miserable, and now, it was time for him to make Gotham miserable.

"Oh," St Clair interrupted Crane's private ramblings, "about the other anti-dote..."

"I haven't finished it yet. Perhaps I never will. It's complicated, even for me." He gave his cold smile, devoid of any human emotion.

It was a lie. He'd finished the special anti-dote days ago. The usual anti-dote didn't have a permanent effect, meaning that after a person had been injected with it, the toxin evaporated from his or her body and sanity returned, but he could use the toxin again on the same person and the insanity would come back. The anti-dote was not immune to the toxin, so to speak. He developed a new anti-dote, one that made a person completely immune to the toxin forever, unless he changed the toxin's formula at some point, but that was not necessary yet.

The idea for the new anti-dote crossed his mind randomly. He could not remember why. Perhaps because it meant a challenge to him; he knew he could do it, just like he invented the toxin. For some inexplicable reason that he now regretted, he told the boss about it. He was not certain yet that it was a wise thing to give such a powerful tool into incapable, idealistic hands. For now, he would lie that he hadn't found the right formula yet. What did the boss know about psycho-pharmacology, anyway? As far as Crane could tell, Ra's al Ghul's knowledge on the matter was very limited. That strange blue flower in the mountains was all the man knew.

St Clair wanted to add something, but he was interrupted by a timid knock on the door.

Crane sighed, looked at the door sternly and invited the person on the other side of the door in. The door opened slowly and in walked Nurse Jones, cradling a burden of medical files in her hands. Crane did not greet her; he waited for her cue, observing her with silent pleasure. She seemed oddly shaken and her eyes refused to meet his.

_Why so scared, Pearl? _

"I am sorry to bother you, Dr Crane," she spoke, trying to sound firm and brave, but failing miserably.

He wondered with honest curiosity what had changed in her. Was she still ashamed of the fact that she broke to little pieces before his eyes days ago? Had the little incident when she crashed into him affected her much? Well, he tended to have an effect on people.

Finally, her eyes found his. She seemed to wince a little, much to his amusement.

_Am I getting to you, Pearl? So soon, without me even trying too hard?_

"I brought you the medical files you have requested."

She walked to his desk and set the files carefully on its polished mahogany surface.

"Thank you, Nurse Jones," he replied with smooth, polite coldness.

She lingered by the desk for a few seconds, then muttered a silent, lame goodbye and started for the door. As her hand landed on the handle, he stopped her with his voice. He wondered about her reaction.

"Nurse Jones, is anything the matter? You seem...fidgety."

She shook her head no, a bit too eagerly.

"N-no, of course not, Dr Crane."

It struck him that she looked nothing like her sister Sherry, despite the soft, blond curls and the sparkling blue eyes. Still, it suddenly felt strange to look at her, surreal and insufferable. She was different than Sherry, better by far. He did not like to see her in this light. She had to be crushed soon. She was not good for his mental peace. He knew then that as long as she would be around, he would not get rid of the feeling of uncertainty. It felt like Sherry had not truly died, and she had to, she had to die completely. She was the past. Everything that happened before his eighteenth birthday was the past.

"Goodbye, Nurse Jones," he said, his voice sterner than was necessary. The ripple wanted to tremble on the surface of his inner lake, but he would not let it. He. Would. _Not._

She nodded and disappeared from his sight in a second. As the door closed behind her, St Clair guffawed.

"What the hell was that about?"

_You dare..._

"We are done, you can go," Crane ordered, subtle menace glittering in his glacial blue orbs, and St Clair removed himself from the office, fuming inwardly. Crane could not care less.

Crane sighed and removed the glasses from his nose, then proceeded to massage his temples. An unbidden image poured into his brain; Pearl Jones running into him, falling down his feet, her innocent blue grey eyes staring up at him.

The memory made him shudder. It disgusted him.

She really had to go down.


	7. Chapter 6

You're right: the reference in the previous chapter was to Mr Murphy's character Patrick Kitten Braden from _The Breakfast on Pluto_. If you haven't seen this movie yet, I recommend that you do.

An explanation of a phrase that appears in this chapter, according to _Webster's New World Medical Dictionary_: **Fugue state:** An altered state of consciousness in which a person may move about purposely and even speak but is not fully aware. A fugue state is usually a type of complex partial seizure.

Enjoy! Author's note at the end of the chapter.

* * *

**CHAPTER 6**

_The halls of the asylum are absolutely desolate and the walls are falling apart slowly, crumbling with every step she makes. She is on the verge of hysteria; she has no idea where everyone is and the sense of isolation is boring into her painfully. It has finally happened. She is all alone in the world and there is no hand in sight that would be willing to pull her out of the misery. _

_She can hear an occasional shriek, a giggle here, silent sobs there, but no one is about her and she is afraid that only the ghosts are responsible for the noises. She fears ghosts; they remind her of death and loss. She starts to run, but her legs are wobbly and she keeps falling to the ground, bruising her skin and acquiring bleeding wounds on her hands and legs. When she falls for the tenth time, she gives up and remains on the ground, surrounded by debris and decay. She is becoming an insignificant part of the grey world around her. Her body curls up, her hands pulling her knees to her chest, and she begins to cry and scream._

_Suddenly, a warm palm descends upon one of her shivering shoulders and she gasps out in surprise and shock. Hoping it's not a trick, hoping there is another human being there, she slowly looks upwards and her teary gaze crashes into the most beautiful hue of blue she has ever seen in her life. The blue eyes hypnotize her and she stands up quickly, adamant not to lose them. She needs the eyes to survive the decay._

_The other human being is a man, and she knows him. He smiles at her, and she returns the smile, the tears gone, her face beaming with joy and relief. She is not alone; he is there with her. His hands deftly snake around her waist and pull her towards him until their chests are glued together and their breaths, her cold and his warm, mingle and create a foggy effect. She knows now that they are truly close, one being, one heart beat, one life and one need._

_His lips descend upon hers and settle there, stating a claim over her. She feels as if she is being devoured by darkness itself, but she does not recoil. She returns the kiss, addicted to the need he exudes, the need she must have for herself, or she must face extinction. His grip around her waist becomes stronger, urgent and almost painful. _

"_You are not going anywhere," he hisses against her trembling lips and kisses them again, fire on ice, ice on fire. They have both become a bit of both. _

_Doesn't he know? She doesn't want to go anywhere. She wants to stay with him, forever._

_Then, the ground below her bare feet shakes and she begins to sink. She cannot say how this came to be, but she is standing in quicksand and slowly disappearing into it. He is standing on the edge calmly, a smirk on his face._

"_Help me!" she screams._

_He kneels down to steal another passionate kiss from her lips, and with the kiss, he takes a bit of her soul into him, a morsel of her life. Then, he turns around and walks away as she keeps on sinking, condemned to death._

"_Don't leave me!" she screams, but it's too late. The sand is no more. She is already falling through a black, endless abyss._

_After an eternity, she sees the ground and knows this will be the end. She won't survive the fall. The ground is coming closer, and she is falling faster and faster towards her doom. _

_She is an inch away from the ground and now –_

Pearl woke up with a loud gasp. She opened her eyes at the same time, and as the dream was still so vivid and alive in her mind, she could see the shadowy edges of the abyss swirling around her for a few second. She yelped in fear and the shadows disappeared, returning her fully to reality. She could feel that she was soaking in her own sweat and she pulled the heavy covers apart with one jerky movement. The air hit her wet skin instantly and goose bumps spread over her body like an allergy.

She was still panting. She was quite used to having nightmares, but this was one a particularly disagreeable one. Usually, her mind tormented her with the images of her sister's murdered body, and spiders, and...The stranger – the faceless silhouette – she imagined as the murderer...but _oh_...

She had just had an intense dream about Crane. She did not know whether she should laugh or cry. She did not even want to remember it, but the nocturnal fantasy kept gnawing at her. It was like a very annoying woodpecker, carving the wood that was her inner peace, and its damn beak really hurt.

She looked at the alarm clock. Five in the morning. That was almost a record. If she actually happened to fall asleep in the evening, as she did tonight, she was usually awake by three am. The dream – no, nightmare – kept her locked up in her sleeping state. Fortunately, it was a Sunday morning, which meant she had a day off and would have one whole day to recover from the unbidden nocturnal shock that shook her to the core. She only worked two Sundays a month.

She got herself out of her bed and walked straight to her bathroom to take a cold shower. As cold water was pouring over her, making her teeth chatter, she leaned against the tiled wall and began to cry, unable to stop herself before the first tears started to spill from her eyes. When she cried her heart out, she stepped out of the cold shower with bluish lips and got dressed. She examined her pale face in the bathroom mirror, but recoiled from her image. She just wasn't ready to face herself in any way.

As she turned on her TV set, trying to distract herself by watching the early Sunday news, she was aware of one thing. She was in love with Crane and she could not make the feeling stop. She was so very grateful that tomorrow, she would start her week of night shifts, which meant she would see far less of Crane, or not at all. She had always expected that falling in love with someone would feel like a perfect picnic in the middle of a meadow on a perfectly sunny and warm day, with birds chirping and butterflies flying around, but that was not the case with her. She felt absolutely miserable.

Her feelings had no hope of reciprocity and she did not want his reciprocity, oh no, definitely not, which made the situation all the more painful. He was her employer; he was an obnoxious person; and she was still in love with him. And then, the most important thing – the feeling of self-preservation. Maybe she was crazy, and she probably was, since she was in love with Crane of all people, but her feminine instinct whispered to her that there was a darkness in him that was hidden to many, but she sensed it, although feebly, and she did not want to deal with anyone like that. She was in awe of him, and felt uncomfortable in his presence, and as far as she knew, that was not how a woman should feel around the man she liked. There was something inexplicably sharp about him. It was painful enough that he was her boss and she would have to meet him often. She could always resign, but she wanted to prove to herself that she could win this battle and defeat her emotions, so she decided to stay for a while longer.

_I can conquer this. _

Pearl only wished that she had never admired Crane as an academic. She used to admire his work so much that she felt a strange sort of quasi-infatuation for the man behind the words, although she had never seen him in any pictures.

She spent the morning cleaning her apartment and she watched a romantic comedy; anything to keep her mind occupied. It was working.

After lunch, she went out for a short walk through the streets of Gotham Village, where her apartment building was located. She felt better outside, her body focused on the sounds of traffic. Her feet carried her close to Robinson Park, but she did not go that far. That was the place where her sister was murdered sixteen years ago, and she could still not face the park. She had to try really hard to keep the involuntary memories at bay.

She spent a good portion of the night reading the book she borrowed from the Gotham City Library, _Swann's Way_ by Proust, which was Volume One of the famous novel compilation _In Search of Lost Time_. She had recently become interested in the matter of involuntary memories, and consequently, she was finally interested in reading the famous episode regarding Proust's madeleines herself. Perhaps that would be her main topic of research once she became a psychiatrist – memories. It felt very comforting to have a clear goal.

At around four in the morning, she managed to fall asleep. She woke up all sweaty and gasping for air once again. She had another dream about Crane, and this time, the kisses and her fall were even more intense than last night. This time, she did die. In the background, she saw the familiar faceless silhouette of her sister's killer watching them kiss, and that was absolutely too much. It was on that early Monday morning that she decided to offer herself an escape from the bruising dreams. She would start taking sleeping pills, although she was against them.

Crane was starting to take a serious toll on her and she could just not afford that.

* * *

Crane's eyes snapped open just before dawn. His sleepy mind was still in a daze, but he was in control of himself enough to realize that his fingers were squeezing the cover between the fists they had formed, with almost brutal force.

"What..." he hissed to himself, frustrated and deeply annoyed.

He got up from his bed immediately and sauntered into the small kitchen to pour himself a glass of much-needed water.

"This is absurd," he grunted to himself.

_That's what I think too, Jonathan._

His eyes widened in surprise and he dropped the glass to the floor where it shattered into sharp wet pieces.

_I see you're surprised to have me back, Jon? Well, I confess, it _has_ been months now._

"I really don't need this right now," Crane whispered angrily and crashed his right palm against the right side of his head in an attempt to shut down the echoing voice in his head.

The voice cackled. _Are_ _you being serious? This is not how these things work, you know._

"You're not even real. You are me, I made you up. And I'm talking to myself. Jesus..."

_You keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better about yourself. But you are right. We are one. One thought, one purpose. Don't you think it's time you acknowledged me? I'm back, so..._Obviously_, you need me. Can you honestly tell me I'm not your equal?_

Crane poured himself another glass of water, deeply irritated. Here he was, Dr Jonathan Crane, picking up a fight with an alter ego, _his_ alter ego. It was strangely hilarious that he, of all people, had a guest inside him, a guest that had been his recurring companion every few months ever since he killed Sherry Squires and Bo Griggs. If his colleagues or patients, or both, had known this dark secret...He could almost laugh at the bitter irony. However, he was proud to admit that he was the one in control, not the voice. He had learned to almost completely suppress the voice over the years, and it had never controlled him, or overpowered him. Except once, sixteen years ago, but even then, _he_ had made the final decision, not the voice. He had never stumbled into the fugue state, nor would he, he was certain, or he would have done so years ago when he was still much weaker. The voice was his shame, but it was not significant. If anything, it was deeply annoying.

He took a sip of the tepid water and looked through the kitchen window, observing the slow, crawling advent of a new November day.

_Why are you so ashamed of me, Jonathan? So..._afraid_ to let me help you deal with your problems? _

Crane sighed deeply. "Go...away," he half snarled. He was _not_ afraid.

_This girl, Pearl...I would have gotten rid of her ages ago. You are too much of a gentleman, too careful. Why are you waiting for the perfect opportunity, anyway? Come on, let _me_ have her. I am _very_ hungry. You haven't been feeding me properly._

"Nor do I intend to," Crane replied, angry that he even listened to the voice. As a psychiatrist, he should have known better about alter egos.

_This is almost sad, Jonathan. I bet you never thought she'd make you perspire, hm? I guess you got that from me. I like her a lot. She's a real cutie, isn't she?_

Crane shuddered with anger. He didn't want to talk about anything, not with his alter ego. The voice was his twisted imagination, for heaven's sake! It was humiliating enough that he had been hearing a voice in the first place.

"Such mediocre words are not part of my vocabulary," he retorted. "Spare yourself and walk away. You know I always win over you, so just leave."

Unfortunately, he could remember what startled him from his sleep. The voice made him remember. He rarely dreamed, but he had a dream this night and it disturbed him. He dreamed about Pearl Jones, about her tears, about her delicious fears, and about her touch when she crashed into him in her clumsiness. That accidental touch had lingered.

He did not care for women anymore after Sherry. He did not need them, their closeness, and what they had to offer. He was not interested in the least.

But now, the image of Pearl Jones crashing into him was stuck in his brain, becoming embedded in his mind despite his efforts to shun her away. He really hated her. Perhaps the voice was right and he should just deal with her as soon as possible. No, that was not how he worked. He would get to know her first; just a few more conversations and he'd be done with her. The more he knew, the more he could enjoy himself in the disintegration of one's mind.

_You're digging your own grave._

He ignored the voice this time. He stared into the big iris of the awakening sky and shuddered as he saw her eyes there, inviting him to take a step closer, just once, only for a short while. She made him feel things beside anger and hatred. She triggered another need, apart from the need to destroy her.

Tension emerged in his fingers and they curled around the glass he was holding with angry force, squeezing and squeezing, until the glass broke and water and sharp shards slid between his fingers, cutting the tender skin. He looked at the fingers of his right hand, at the thin rivulets of blood oozing from the small wounds, and he smiled to himself as he picked a tiny shard from the irritated skin.

He was going to pluck her out of his life like a shard from his skin. The thought was extremely comforting, and he felt in complete control again. He was not used to being without complete control. It was an almost...frightening thought, and he was not someone who was afraid. He had not been afraid since he was a teenager.

_Yes, it doesn't feel good to feel fear yourself, does it, Jon? Well, don't you worry, we know fear, and the only thing to fear is fear itself. _

"Yes," Crane whispered.

_Can I take over for a change?_

Crane laughed. "Of course not."

_Next time, then._

"There won't be a next time for you," Crane replied with determination and he felt that the voice was gone, for now.

He sighed in relief and leaned his head against the kitchen window to cool his feverish skin. Having to deal with the voice took away a lot of his energy, and he would truly need all of his energy in the following days. He pushed away from the window to get changed for work and his injured hand slid across the pane absently as he pushed his frame away. There were five thin red traces crawling down the window, the blood from his wounded fingers of his right hand, and he stared at the crimson picture.

He had not murdered anyone since the Halloween night sixteen years ago. At least, not the way murderers usually killed people, by stabbing them, or shooting them, or maybe strangling them, the way he finished Sherry Squires. His power was in the toxin, and sometimes, accidents happened, as the human mind could only take so much. Sometimes, he used a lethal dose intentionally when someone truly angered him.

He smiled as he thought that he would not make Pearl Jones simply lose her mind. He would probably use a lethal dose on her. It would be for the best. She was a weak link in his life, a loose end he could not afford to keep present.

He was still angry, however, because the thought did not make him as happy as he hoped it would.

He ignored the feeling. He was good at ignoring unpleasant things.

* * *

Four days had passed; four days without seeing Crane. Pearl was delighted. There was a part of her that wanted to see him, but she gave that part a daily lecture. She was severe with herself, and sometimes she questioned her reasons, her motives, but at the end of the day, she always won. The part that craved for Crane's presence was becoming smaller and smaller with each new day, and on the fourth day, Pearl was in a genuinely good mood.

It was a Friday night, twenty minutes past midnight, and the night was very quiet and calm. The patients on the fourth and fifth floors were mostly sleeping, and Pearl was allowed to take a twenty-minute break. She felt stiff and somewhat sleepy. Although she was an insomniac, it did not mean that she could not feel sleepy at night. To wake herself up thoroughly, she decided to take a walk to the roof, stretch a bit on the rooftop and return to her duties. The cold, fresh air would really do her good.

As she arrived at the roof, she regretted not taking her jacket with her, but at the same time, the chilly air felt strangely comfortable on her skin. She inhaled the cold deeply and exhaled slowly, observing the swirling white shapes she formed with her breath. She giggled and did it again. She and Dominic used to do that when they both quit smoking as teenagers. Dominic thought that by pretending they were smoking winter air, the abstinence would be less nerve-wrecking for them, and sometimes, it actually worked. The mind was a powerful thing; it could convince a person into anything.

Pearl walked to the edge of the roof, taking a look at the Narrows spreading around them. Abandoned facilities stretched as far as the eye could see. It was common knowledge in Gotham that the Narrows were a sort of kingdom for criminal activity, but there was no real proof to support this truth, which was ridiculous. Pearl was convinced that the Gotham police simply did not want to deal with so much dirt. Perhaps, this new Batman character would make a difference. The guy was weird, creepy and seriously disturbed, she believed, but he at least tried and for that, she actually respected the strange vigilante.

As she was about to leave, convinced by the chill to cut her break on the rooftop short, she saw a car drive into the parking lot for the staff. Curiously, she waited to see who it was and was surprised to identify that the car was Dr Crane's Lexus. Her heart skipped a bit as, from her high spot, she saw a miniature Crane exit the vehicle. The yearning part of her that she had reduced to a very small entity cracked open and sent out a surge of fire that spread through her body. The yearning part of her was big again and screamed for her attention. Pearl gritted her teeth together, angry that she felt like this.

_Crap_, she swore inwardly. She had been doing so fine without him, and now he was there, tempting her, mocking her. Her skin was tingling and her heart was beating faster.

_Damn it._

She wondered why he came. An urgent case? Her eyes narrowed in suspicion as she saw Dr St Clair walk towards Crane with languid, relaxed steps. Pearl knew that Dr St Clair was supposed to have a week off, and neither of them seemed in a hurry to help a patient in distress. No, they were _definitely_ not there for a patient. She did not like this. Having a gut feeling could be a very annoying thing, but she trusted her gut feeling, and it was convinced that something strange was going on.

As the two men disappeared into the building, Pearl shook her head, trying to snap her mind out of another useless, torturous rambling. No, she would _not_ care about what Crane and St Clair were doing. It was _none_ of her business. _Crane_ was none of her business.

Shuddering, but this time not from the cold, she left the rooftop and returned to her duties. But as hard as she tried, she could not calm down. Crane was somewhere in the building, and the very thought was extremely unnerving to Pearl. What if he came by? He could, at any time. She did not know how she would react in his presence now that she knew how she felt. She was really scared. She tried to convince herself that her various feelings were ridiculous, but it was all in vain.

She had never been so happy to come home to her apartment and cry. She had had a sad life, but she was a survivor. This time, she was just too exhausted to care to survive in the end. She had no idea why the notion of being in love with Crane was so horrible, but it was. He was so much and so little at the same time. It was a nerve-wrecking thought.

After taking a cold shower to pull herself together, she achieved the effect of mind-numbing fatigue and that pleased her. All of a sudden, she felt such strange relief that she forgot to take a sleeping pill, her faux shield against the dreams about Crane.

That night, however, an old dream came back.

_She is a girl of eight, saying goodbye to her big sister, the woman she sees as her idol, the woman she hopes to become when she grows up. She does not want her sister to leave tonight, not with so many ghosts, and skeletons, and vampires lurking around. But her sister assures her that she is a big girl and she can take care of herself. _

_As the big sister walks through the front door, her movements caught in a strange picture of slow motion, the little girl runs upstairs to their room and looks through the window, to see the beautiful Dorothy walk down the street. The girl is surprised to see Dorothy greet a Scarecrow, a real Scarecrow! She knows it's not her sister's sweetheart. This one is too thin and too tall to be him. The little girl waves at them, but they do not see her. They drive away, without another look back. _

_The little girl goes to her bed, but she cannot sleep without her big sister in the room. A strange, burning sensation settles in her stomach and spreads to her chest. She thinks that perhaps a glass of milk will help her. She gets up and opens the door of her room, very carefully, very silently, as not to wake up the boogey-man sleeping in the attic. Her sister has told her many times that the boogey-man always sleeps and rarely wakes up. If children are quiet and sleep tight, they are safe from the creature. _

_Now, the girl is warming up some milk in the kitchen. Suddenly, the door bell scares her and she lets out a shriek. Her daddy opens the door; there is a man dressed up as a policeman. Isn't it a bit late for trick-or-treating? The policeman looks solemn and he must be a very rude man because suddenly, her mommy is screaming and daddy's face looks white and dead. She runs to them, but she keeps tripping and cannot reach them. _

_The more she runs, the longer the distance between them gets, and after a few minutes, she is alone, dressed up very nicely in a beautiful black dress with laced trimming, her feet resting in beautiful, shiny black shoes. She looks down and notices that she is sitting on the lid of a black, lacquered coffin, holding a bouquet of red carnations in her small, gloved hands. _

"_Hello, little girl," a voice speaks and she turns to her left to see a man standing by the coffin. He seems nice. He is a real detective, she knows that._

"_Do you know who killed your sister?"_

_She frowns. Killed? Her sister is dead? Oh, yes, she remembers. She trembles, but she cannot cry. Her sister is dead. Why cannot she cry? She wants to cry, so very much! The unshed tears are choking her. The pain is excruciating._

"_Have you seen her with anyone?"_

_No. Wait...Yes, she did, but she cannot say who it was, other than that it was a Scarecrow. She is old enough to know that no one will believe her that there was a man of straw that accompanied her sister to a masquerade. So, she says, "No, sir, no one."_

_She feels she should say more, that this might be important, but her little heart aches so much that she cannot think. _

"_Will I die, too, sir?"_

"_One day you will, little girl. One day."_

_The girl closes her eyes in grief and when she opens them, she is a grown woman, lying in an open coffin, huddled together with her big sister, who is only a skeleton. She screams and wants to scramble out of the coffin, but a strong hand pushes her back. She looks up in absolute fear and screams again when she sees the Scarecrow hovering above her. The faceless silhouette she has feared for so long; that she has expected to come back and take her life as well. _

"_Goodbye, Pearl. Have you said your prayers?" the monster asks and slams the lid in place. _

_Her narrow world becomes darkness and all she can hear are her own screams._

"Let me out of the coffin, let me out!" Pearl screamed.

Finally, she was awoken by her own screams that saved her from the nightmare. Memories and guilt washed over her in a tidal, consuming wave. Her mind was on fire. She should have said more when she was eight, but she was a stupid child. Years later, when she finally remembered the important details, it was too late. No one thought that little detail was important enough to open up an old case. After all, Bo Griggs disappeared that night and it was more than obvious he was their guy.

But deep in her heart, Pearl felt and knew that it was the man she saw dressed up as a scarecrow who murdered her sister. The nameless horror. The faceless silhouette. Her greatest fear.

_Will you come after me one day? Will you kill me, too? Are you my guilty conscience?_

She would never be able to forgive herself.

"Never!" she screamed and cried until there were truly no more tears to shed.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I just want to comment on Crane's alter ego. Initially, I did not intend for him to have an alter ego, but I knew that I wanted to give him something he would be ashamed of and disturbed by, and since he's not afraid of anything (yet) and he's pretty much cold-hearted, I thought that it would be quite horrible for someone of his intelligence, arrogance and profession to share something with those he puts down on a regular basis, namely his patients. Also, the Scarecrow persona he uses to scare people _is_ an alter ego, to be honest, just as the Batman is Bruce Wayne's alter ego. The only difference is that Bruce Wayne doesn't hear voices. And as Crane has a very superior mind and will power, I suppose, I reduced his alter ego to a weak entity that _he _controls, not the other way around.


	8. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

**/ \**

Another Monday came, and it marked the beginning of Pearl's first week of afternoon shifts. It meant that she started to work at two in the afternoon. She did not complain, but she did fear that now, it was almost certain she would have to meet the object of her unwelcome fantasies very often. She decided she would behave like a big, mature girl. She was a woman and she would not fret over anything, especially not over Crane. The key was in self-control, in the ability to reign in any emotion that would come to wash over her, or invite her to take a swim in it.

Taking a deep breath, she exited her car and started walking towards the entrance for the staff. When she was a few feet away from the entrance, her cell phone started to ring. Rolling her eyes, she fumbled in her bag for the ringing object, and when she finally found it, the display showed the name Jessica.

"Damn," Pearl hissed under her breath and pressed the green button. It was no use avoiding Jessica; avoiding that woman usually only made things worse, as in extremely annoying, with a lot of complaints, swearing and yelling. That was her sister-in-law, the _complete_ opposite of her late brother Dominic.

"Hello, Jessica," Pearl spoke evenly, already angry because her gut feeling promised the conversation would not make her happy in the least. She was sure that Jessica was in trouble again.

"Hi, Pearl," came a sob, and it made Pearl's intestines twist in worry and frustration. Sometimes, she did not know whether she wanted to hug Jessica or slap her cheeks senseless.

Pearl sighed. "Oh, Jess, what did you do this time?"

Another sob could be heard. "I...I couldn't help myself...I'm in Las Vegas..."

"Shit, Jessica!" Pearl answered loudly. She knew all too well what had happened. Jessica, addicted to gambling, broke the rules of her rehabilitation again. Pearl knew that her mother and father-in-law should not have trusted Jessica enough to let her live on her own again. Now, the worst happened again – Jessica slipped to Las Vegas and gambled.

"How much did you lose this time, Jess?" she grumbled, extreme discomfort gripping at her heart.

Jessica sniffed on the other side. "Well...I was wondering if, uhm, you could cover for me...I can't ask mom and dad, I asked them the last time I...lost... But right now, I can't afford to learn from my mistakes, I can't! Please, I promise I'll pay you back!"

Pearl sighed in irritation. "Jess, what the hell were you _thinking_? You've already gambled away your inheritance money, which, by the way, your parents should never have given you! I've covered for you _many_ times, and you _haven't_ paid me back, you know it. How much do you owe this time?"

"You're rich, thanks to my brother. What do you care about a few thousand dollars?" Jessica's voice was becoming venomous. Pearl knew that was the end of her playing it sweet. That was fine, Pearl was ready.

"Yes, my husband left me enough money, but I still work. You should try it, Jess, it might be fun."

"That money should have been mine!" Jessica screamed back. "You were not even a real wife to him. My brother was gay. He only asked you to marry him to make my parents proud of him. He was a queer, and a hypocrite! If you hadn't told him about my hobby, I wouldn't be in constant need of money in the first place! He cut me out of his will because of _you_!"

Pearl was seething with anger. She wished Jessica was there with her, so she could afford her a good slap or two.

"How _dare_ you speak of your own _brother_ like this?" Pearl snarled back, angry tears forming in her eyes. "Have you no respect and honour left in you? And all because of _cards_? Please, take a good look at yourself and tell me if what you are doing is normal, Jessica!"

"I don't have time for your preaching, Miss Perfect!" Jessica snapped back. "I need 30,000$. Can I count on you or not?"

Pearl's jaw dropped. "30,000? Are you _nuts_?" she screeched into the cell phone. "No way! I have most of my money on a time deposit, and even if it was available to me, there's no way in _hell_ I would give you so much money! Call your parents and fool them, or do yourself a favour and call your psychiatrist, but don't drag me on your sinking ship, Jess. You need _help_. Please, Jessica, you're sick and you have to –"

"You cheap bitch!" Jessica screamed into the phone.

Pearl laughed. "Look, I can help you, but not with money. Sorry."

"No, you're _not_ sorry! You married my brother, the young CEO genius, and got what you wanted – loads of money. You don't care if he's dead, or if _I_ die. You're a rich woman, and selfish to the bone."

"_Selfish_?" Pearl screamed back.

She was so angry and disappointed with Jessica that she could hardly think. The false accusations stung her skin like a swarm of enraged bees attacking and she could not believe the words that came out of Jessica's mouth. Blinded by rage and pain, she ended the call and threw her cell phone against the ground with great force. The tiny object smashed in two when it made contact with the asphalt, small bits of plastic scattering around its perimeter.

Pearl had to scream, lash out her anger. She had the feeling that if she didn't, she would explode. She had to get to the rooftop as soon as possible. She had to scream! She ran into the building and towards the elevators. She hated elevators, as she was a bit claustrophobic, but she feared that running up eight storeys would make the anger evaporate from her system all too soon and she _needed_ to feel the dark emotion for a while. Her sanity depended on it. Many emotions had been bubbling up in her soul and Jessica's words of poison were the final drop. The elevator doors opened with a welcome cling and she rushed into the narrow cage without looking, pressing the desired button with shaking fingers.

As the elevator doors closed, she looked up only to meet a pair of all too familiar blue eyes.

_Shit. Not him. Not_ now.

"Nurse Jones," came the cold, formal greeting and it seemed to Pearl that her heart might have stopped for a full second before it resumed its accelerated pace.

"Dr Crane," she choked out her reply, her shock and mortification absolute. She could not even be properly angry anymore, which only made her frustration swell and press against her mind with aching force. Again, he was the witness to her core bearing itself before him. Again, she could not hide herself from him. She wished she could simply disappear, vanish into thin air by a stroke of releasing magic.

Luck was not on her side.

Suddenly, the elevator cage shook as if the elevator had just coughed and sneezed, and the process of smooth lifting stopped abruptly, shaking its passengers like snowflakes carried by the winter wind. Darkness overwhelmed the elevator cage, but it only lasted for two seconds. In a weak flash, the narrow place was illuminated by foggy light, as bleak and as weak as the light seeping down from an old, dying bulb. A terrible fact punched through Pearl's mind – she and Dr Crane were caught in the elevator.

"Shit," she whimpered and closed her eyes, trying to keep herself glued together. She could already feel the pieces of her begin to fall apart, and she only hoped she could keep herself in control this time.

Pearl ventured a look in Dr Crane's direction and noticed, with no small amount of relief, that he was completely composed. In fact, his face exuded an air of annoyance and irritation. On any other day, that would have caused her to complain to herself about such an expression plastered to his cheeks, but at the moment, she was most grateful to see it. It meant that she was definitely not alone, stuck in the elevator as they were. She did not say another word; she relied on him completely to react. She was not completely claustrophobic; she only disliked elevators, but despite the fact, she did not trust herself completely in the current situation.

Pearl watched Dr Crane as he put his briefcase on the floor of the elevator, leaning the object against his side of the elevator, and he walked to the phone on her side of the cage. She moved out of his way as if on cue. In her state of discomfort and semi-fright, her body behaved clumsily and her feet accidentally brushed against the briefcase, making the object shake a little.

"Don't touch that," Dr Crane snapped and Pearl actually gasped in surprise, then looked down, focusing her gaze on the tips of her shoes.

She moved away from the briefcase. Yet, she did not feel insulted by Dr Crane's sharpness. He could act like an idiot today, as long as he kept her safe. The thought seemed strange and bizarre to her ears, too intimate and personal to be trusted, but she had to admit to herself that she was not exactly one of those people who managed to keep their minds clear in a crisis situation. As far as she was concerned, this _was_ a crisis situation.

She was so immersed in her ramblings about Crane and crisis that it escaped her attention that he had finished the call. She saw him sigh in irritation.

She forced herself to speak. "W-what...did they say, Dr Crane?"

He looked at her and she flinched. Nevertheless, she managed to keep her eyes on him, not giving way to an inner weakness; the subsided, throbbing need for contact; the swirl of shame.

"According to the maintenance team," he spoke, a hint of contempt lacing his silver voice, "we have problems with electricity today, but it should not take them more than thirty minutes to get us out of the elevator. Meanwhile, we must wait, or so it seems."

She could tell how much he hated the situation. Suddenly, it occurred to her that she might have been looking at a control freak. She knew very little about Dr Crane, only that he specialised in fear, psycho-pharmacology and arrogance. He was an unreadable book, but this time, she was sure she was offered to read a paragraph – he was always in control, and this situation had his hands tied together. There was nothing _he_ could do. He was not in control and he absolutely hated it. She was probably wrong, but the thought that, maybe, she was right actually made her feel better. She was not the only one harbouring cracks. And _he_ was not the only one who could see right through other people.

Then, she remembered what he had said and her insides cringed. "Thirty minutes?" she spoke, aware of how her voice trembled. She must have looked like a doe in front of burning car lights and she hated her transparency.

"Are you afraid?"

His question hit her like a stone in the head. She met his blue gaze, her eyes wide open and shocked.

"I'm fine," she replied, her voice teetering on the edge of stability.

"You look pale, and your hands are shaking."

As he spoke the words, his face was a rock. It gave nothing away and it unnerved her.

"I don't like elevators," she proceeded to explain, "but I'll be fine. I'm not really claustrophobic, Dr Crane, just...uncomfortable."

She stopped herself. Why did she _always_ have to explain _everything_ to him? She was angry with herself, and angry with him for being able to elicit honest responses from her. She needed retaliation; she would not let him get to her so easily this time. Elevators were not nearly as frightening to her as spiders were, or her greatest fear of all.

"Are _you_ afraid, Dr Crane?"

For a moment, she could see disbelief flash through his blue orbs, like livid electricity. It was so fast, it felt almost imagined, but she was quite certain she saw it. She smiled at his reaction despite herself.

"No, I am not afraid," he replied icily. He walked to his briefcase, picked it up and walked back to his previous position.

Pearl felt strangely emboldened. The discomfort was gone. _He_ was there, so she knew she would be fine. She felt free to re-live the anger and to taste the bitter bile that came with Jessica's call.

"Of anything?" she asked, secretly hoping he was afraid of _something_. If she had the misfortune of having feelings for him, then she hoped that, at least, he was able to keep a semblance of warm, normal and flawed humanity inside him.

Dr Crane's eyes narrowed for a split second. "Does your inquiry have a purpose, Nurse Jones?"

The tone of his voice sent a chill down her spine, but she was decided to persist. She hardly knew why, but she was drawn to this conversation like a moth to a flame.

"It does, I suppose," she replied, disguising her uncertainty. She may have felt emboldened, but feelings were not always easily expressed.

"My curiosity is piqued," he replied, flashing her a brief, tight-lipped smile that reeked of falseness. It truly made Pearl wonder why she was so in love with such a terrible man. For a moment, her heart shook in yearning, but she crushed the sensation immediately.

"For one," she began, "you know my fears, which, in all honesty, is a bit embarrassing for me."

She blushed involuntarily.

"This does not imply you are entitled to knowing mine, Nurse Jones."

She brushed away the coldness gripping at her shoulders. "So, you admit to having fears yourself."

His eyes remained calm, but Pearl could swear she saw his jaw clench in anger.

* * *

She was venom; that was his diagnosis.

He tried to estimate his options. He was incredibly tempted to use the toxin on her, right there and in that moment, but that would not have been a very intelligent move on his part. They were trapped together in the small space of the elevator and once the doors opened, the maintenance team would be greeted by a peculiar spectacle – Nurse Jones convulsing on the floor and Dr Crane standing next to her with a burlap sack over his head. He most definitely could not afford to take his mask off once he had done it in the elevator; the small space they had would not allow the toxin dissipate in the air soon enough. He would need to keep the mask on, and that was not an option.

He wished with all his heart that she could turn into a bug and he could crush her with his feet.

She obviously had no idea whom she was asking such pertinent, presumptuous questions.

He would not explain himself. Not to anyone, and especially not to _her_. He would let her believe what she wished to believe, but she had just decided her fate. It would be done, and very soon.

"If I do," Crane replied, as calmly as he could, "I am afraid I cannot compare to you in this respect, Nurse Jones."

He welcomed her silence with open arms. It was so easy to squash her attempts at bravery. She wanted to see through him, did she? She could never do that, poor, naive soul. That was _his_ job.

"Oh, I apologize," he continued, the warmth in his voice entirely superficial. "I did not mean to offend you. I only meant to say that you strike me as someone who is, in general, very afraid, harbours many fears."

He noticed with pleasure that her jaw was tempted to yawn, but she resisted the temptation. Then, she – surprisingly – shrugged her shoulders in a dainty manner and curled her lips into a sour smile.

"Well, I do have fears, I can't deny that, but apart from my...phobia, I'd say the amount of fear I possess is quite normal. Normal for self-preservation and my survival instinct, I mean. When I think about it, I'm glad I'm able to feel fear from time to time. I welcome it."

He looked at her in surprise.

She welcomed fear.

This time, his interest was honestly piqued. "Would you care to elaborate on this theory?"

She smiled; her cheeks grew pink; the glow of her embarrassment was delightful.

"Dr Crane, I don't really think I could. Aren't you the expert on fear here? I'm really not an authority on this subject. I can only speak from experience and include my beliefs."

She was so self-conscious and shy. He absolutely had to pursue their subject of conversation – fear. He wanted to hear her theories on fear, its power and its effects. This was what he had wanted all along. He knew her fears; now, he would get to know her view on the matter, and consequently, on herself. He wanted to know why and how she welcomed fear.

He tried a friendly approach. "We are bound to remain stuck in this elevator for another twenty minutes, Nurse Jones. I do not look forward to long silence, and I am quite intrigued by your ideas. Amuse me."

She bit her lip insecurely. He could see she found his behaviour suspicious.

"Well," she began, "absence of fear can be dangerous, that's what I meant."

He could agree. Absence of fear _was_ dangerous – for those who felt fear. He did not know fear anymore, which meant he had absolute power over those who felt it. He was in control.

"Interesting."

This time, she was braver. "Think about it, Dr Crane. If, uhm, well, I mean...In general...If you don't have any fears, you also don't fear for your own safety, which means you don't care about yourself. You're not careful, and eventually, something will happen to get you killed, or at least, badly hurt. So, uhm, yes, my fear of spiders is, I know, an irrational fear, but...I always look to my left and right before crossing a street because I definitely don't want to get hit by a car. And Gotham is full of crime. I keep a can of pepper spray in my purse. See? For protection, self-preservation." She smiled uncertainly. "But I bet that in a jungle, even my arachnophobia would come in handy."

Saying that, she shrugged her shoulders and looked down in embarrassment. "I don't know..." She bit her lip.

She had a point; of course she had a point. He knew that, and he had explored this side of fear in an academic article. Yet, he did not agree with it. He believed that, for control, and for power, risks were worth taking. However, he did not want to tell her, reassure her, that she made sense. Despite himself, he was impressed by her ability to actually think. This was so rare in Gotham, as far as he was concerned. He was aware of the fact that she was an intelligent woman, and he suspected she had an inquisitive mind. He remembered a few details from her interview that suggested as much and supported his suspicion. But that was the sting – he did not want to like her, at all, not even a bit.

It was easy and comfortable to remember the anger she made him feel mere minutes ago.

"Your arachnophobia is not irrational," he said, determined to make her squirm a little since he did not have the pleasure to retaliate otherwise.

He took a slow, deliberate step towards her. Her now relaxed composure became taut and rigid immediately, and he could almost see the discomfort in her eyes. She did not want to go there, but he did.

"Who do you really fear?"

It was a wild guess, but he believed he was right. He hoped he was right. It would be a small victory for him already.

"Spiders are just the physical realization of something, or someone, you truly fear, are they not?" he continued, taking another step forward. They were now only two steps apart.

"No, Dr Crane, please. I really don't want to talk about it."

She was remembering things, and she could see something, or someone, he was certain. Her fingers began to abuse the hem of her short winter jacket, gnawing at the material nervously, and her eyes fell, focused on a spot on the ground.

"Why not?" he prodded her, amazed by a tear that slid down one alabaster cheek, leaving a screaming trail of despair on her skin. The tear fascinated him. It seemed so eloquent, like a liquid personality.

She shook her head. "Because it hurts to remember..." she whispered. Her lower lip was shaking slightly.

"You can't hide and live in denial all your life. Do you want that?"

She shook her head. "Of course not," she replied silently. "But still..."

"Does your sister's tragedy play a part in this?"

Now, only one step separated them. Pearl was cornered like a small animal cowering in front of a great predator.

She looked at him directly. "It scares me. Please, have some respect, Dr Crane."

Her plight must have reached someone's ears because at that moment, the elevator shook again and began to move upwards. Pearl wiped the tears from her face and smiled broadly.

"We're saved!"

As soon as the elevator doors clinked open, Pearl almost ran out of the cage towards her salvation. As Crane exited the cage himself, she turned around slowly and looked at him.

Maybe it was his imagination, but her blue grey pools were most eloquent.

_I wish you hadn't tortured me again._

_But I had to, Pearl. It was your fault, you know. _

She was sad and shaken, and she resented him. She could not hide that. He half expected her to reproach him again. She could be reckless enough.

"Have a good day, Dr Crane," she spoke instead, turning around and walking away.

He wanted to think with pleasure about the approaching day when he would uncover her _true_ greatest fear.

But he did not. He only stared after her, no thoughts in his head, and only when she was gone from his sight did he begin the walk to his office.


	9. Chapter 8

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am very nervous about this chapter. I can't tell you why because then I'll spoil the fun, but know this: no matter what you may think after reading this chapter, I do not intend to go out of character with Crane, ever. He's a psycho and I would not wish to know him in person, but I love this psycho too much to change him.

I also have to confess that as a writer, I am proud of this chapter. The whole thing worked out way better than I had hoped it would. And, just as a curiosity, while writing this chapter, I listened to the song_ Take It All Away_ by Red all the time.

This chapter is from Pearl's POV almost entirely, apart from the beginning. Don't worry, the next chapter is written in Crane's POV from the first to the last sentence, and allow me to tease you a bit: in Chapter 9, Lorien Urbani finally drops a bomb.

WARNING: This chapter features some profanities.

FIC RECOMMENDATION: Check out _The User's Guide and Manual to JONATHAN CRANE _by Xrai. (You can find the parody fic in my faves.) I laughed SO hard when reading this. I've read it three times since yesterday!

* * *

**CHAPTER 8**

**/ \**

His first encounter with the vigilante who called himself the Bat-man was unexpected, but bore satisfactory consequences.

The big black bat, feared by many criminals of Gotham, thought he could strike _him_ down the way he just defeated the men who worked for him, but in the end, even the big black bat yielded.

When would people realize that physical force was only secondary to mental power?

Before the masked vigilante knew it, the toxin was forced into his body and the effect was immediate.

"Boo!" and the big man was down.

It was always a pleasure to know that he could make the biggest and the toughest of them kneel, and this strange, masked, self-appointed knight of justice was no different. It almost made Crane laugh how he thought of saying "boo" before he sprayed the toxin into the big bat's unsuspecting face. It was quite...hilarious. Crane did not laugh much, but he allowed a smirk to pass his face briefly before he concentrated back on the struggling vigilante.

And then, on the spur of intriguing inspiration, he set the struggling bat on fire and the defeated giant crashed through the window and fell into the night. Defeated by him, Jonathan Crane.

He felt the entity inside him move and purr, and before he could stop it, the voice spoke,

_This was quite...epic, Jon. I am very pleased. _

This time, Crane did not protest and there was no need to. The voice had already retreated into the deepest, darkest crevices of its existence, and most importantly, it was right. The voice was him, and he was the voice, and how could he oppose himself?

Crane smiled to himself, the burlap mask carefully concealing his joy. Of all the people, of all the criminals, _he_ was the one who undid the great Batman.

That _was_ quite epic.

* * *

Three days had passed since the unfortunate incident with Dr Crane in the elevator, and for three days, Pearl had felt none too happy to go to work.

She was hurt and resentful. How could he have cornered her like that? Did he enjoy inspiring her with pain and fear? No, it couldn't be. Or could it? He knew fear inside out, after all.

Had he just been his tactless, disrespectful, arrogant old self in the elevator? Were his prying, bruising questions truly a consequence of his professional life, as it was his job to ask questions and solve puzzles?

Whatever the truth was, Pearl could not help but resent him. She was slowly becoming aware of how far things had gone in her life ever since the day she first met Dr Crane in person, and they were becoming wilder and less and less tamed with every new day when she struggled to take a deep breath and remembered, realized again and again what exactly she felt for him. It was such a sick combination of emotions, resentment meshed together with infatuation, rejection with yearning, and it was always about him.

"Have you any idea as to just how damaged you have become?" she would ask herself whenever she could.

It was like an obsession. That event in the elevator was expanding aggressively in her mind, and she had no idea why, but she could not forget and let go. She resented and felt so many other things at the same time, it was insane.

She diligently took a sleeping pill every night, to allow herself some emptiness at least for a few hours, but the emptiness did not last all night. Eventually, she would start to dream. In her dreams, she was a different Pearl and he was a perfect Jonathan, and they fit together perfectly. She was brave enough to defy him all the time, and he was always perfectly quiet and respectful, letting her to be herself, not asking his terrible, prodding questions that opened so many old wounds.

_You can't hide and live in denial all your life. Do you want that?_

_Someday, I will face myself, but not today. Denial is comfortable, Jonathan. Isn't it comfortable?_

_Of course it is. I am sorry; be comfortable. _

_No more questions?_

_No more questions, I promise._

_Thank you. I only want you to tell me – what will happen if I remain comfortable for ever? Is this bad?_

_It means you will be afraid forever._

_It does?_

_Yes, Pearl. And, fear is how you fall. It is how you will fall if you keep on living as you do._

_Don't say that. It scares me. You scare me. _

_Then leave me and never look back. It is this simple._

_That I cannot do. Not now, not yet, maybe...I don't know. _

That was the recurring scenario of the past three days. The crazy dream that made absolutely no sense, but it felt strangely true and right.

Pearl was amazed by the eruption of feelings and imagined scenes in her head that were all a consequence of Crane's interrogation in the elevator. She knew he had wanted to read her. She was transparent enough and he already knew more than any other living human being she knew, even more than some that had sadly left her all too soon. No one else had ever asked her why she really feared spiders, why she chose them as her external tormentors on which she focused her greatest fear. No one else had ever thought about there being a _someone_ she feared, not just something. He had come way too close for her comfort and that frightened her. The proximity of his mind frightened her.

That was why she resented him. Not because he was so nosy, but because he was so right. She almost wanted to tell him the truth, _him_ of all people, but she was not ready yet. The past, the memories, were all too painful and real. She intended to confront him, however, to ask him once and for all if he could stop trying to analyse her and help her, if that was what he was doing. She knew she was mostly just a subject of analysis, an interesting specimen for someone who studied fear, and that knowledge hurt. The knowledge that she was only a tool. But maybe, it would not hurt so much if she pretended he also wanted to help. It was self-deception, but deception was just as comfortable as denial and she was simply so tired of trying to find excuses for him. There was something very wrong about him, but she was still in love with him, and until the emotion died in her, she would have to endure it.

She was done with excuses.

* * *

Her opportunity came after three days. She did not plan it, it was completely unexpected and surprising, but she took it, as much as it frightened her to confront him alone.

She finished her afternoon shift at ten in the evening and stayed on for another half an hour to chat a bit with Angela Smith, who was about to start her night shift. Both Pearl and Angela worked afternoon shifts that week, but Angela covered for another nurse that night. Angela made Pearl laugh with amusement, as Angela was already yawning and her shift had not even started yet. Sometimes, being an insomniac was actually a perk in some cases, like when one had to work night shifts. Pearl said goodbye to Angela at exactly thirty minutes past ten, when everyone else who had worked the afternoon shift had gone home already, and gave Angela the thumbs-up in encouragement.

Pearl hurried to her car as it was cold outside and she really did not like the Narrows during the night, even though Arkham was well-protected, inside and outside. All she wanted was to go home and relax, but her car of twelve years would not start.

"Oh, come on, baby, let me hear you roar, come on," she talked to the car as if it were a person, but the machine was obviously dead.

After fifteen minutes of no go, Pearl's frustration reached its peak and fuming, she stepped out of the car and kicked the left front tire with her feet several times.

"Damn it!" she huffed. "Damn, damn, damn!" She accentuated every word with a kick in the tire.

She did_ not_ like this. She could not borrow a car from a co-worker. They were all working right now and would need their cars, anyway. She would definitely _not_ walk to the train station, no way, not in the Narrows. Calling a cab was out of the question, as no one in their right mind would come for a client to the Narrows. It was a horrible situation. She would call a mechanic tomorrow and rent a car, but her priority now was to get home and she had no idea how to accomplish that.

"What seems to be the problem, Nurse Jones?"

The voice startled her so much that she let out a short, subdued shriek. As she noticed that the voice belonged to Dr Crane, she relaxed and panicked at the same time. Sometimes it seemed to her that the more she tried to overcome her problems, the deeper they would run. It was like Murphy's Law and it picked on her.

"Dr Crane!" she exclaimed. "What, er...what are you doing here?" She scolded herself mentally. It was not possible that she could have asked him a dumber question.

He frowned a little. "I was on my way to my car and...here you are."

She smiled awkwardly, trying to mask her embarrassment and discomfort, but she was sure she was failing miserably. His blue eyes were focused on her and she could not bear that. The elevator scene was re-playing in her mind.

She pulled herself together by force. "Yes, well...My car won't start."

She shrugged her shoulders hopelessly. An idea formed in her mind, but it was too embarrassing and outrageous to be taken seriously. There were so many good and perfect reasons as to why she could not possibly ask Dr Crane to be so kind and humane as to take her home, or at least drive her to the train station and maybe wait with her until the arrival of a train, in case some criminals decided to conduct business in the vicinity. No, the idea was crazy, all of it was crazy. _She_ was crazy to think like that.

The minute of silence that followed was absolutely agonizing for Pearl. After her confession, Crane simply nodded, then proceeded to stare at her car, deliberating on something. He seemed like a statue, and the expression on his face was blank enough to leave one imagining whether he had actually become a statue. Then, suddenly, he looked up, meeting Pearl's gaze.

"Where do you live?" he asked dispassionately, his eyes expecting an answer.

Pearl was confused and out of breath. She just realized that she had been holding her breath in nervous anticipation and discomfort for the span of the entire silent minute.

"Live? Me? I...That is, uhm, Gotham Village, East Side, Mackenzie Street."

He nodded. "Alright, Nurse Jones. I can drive you home. Come."

Her jaw dropped in absolute shock and surprise, but he did not afford her a single moment to protest or question his decision. Her feet began to follow him of their own volition, whereas her mind was in turmoil. She could not possibly take Crane's offer! She did not want him to take her home. It was strange, and too personal. The idea of being a passenger in his car, so close to him, for twenty minutes, was nothing short of daunting and unacceptable.

But her feet kept on following him. She was not sure whether she had locked her car or not, but she would probably have to buy a new one anyway, so it did not matter if some petty criminal from the Narrows managed to sneak inside the Arkham facilities and somehow steal her car. She knew her mind made no sense. She was so confused and overwhelmed, it was frightening.

Crane unlocked his black Lexus and it was then that Pearl finally spoke.

"Thank you, Dr Crane. Uhm, I hope it's no trouble..."

She decided to play along. She did not want to embarrass herself further by rejecting his offer. She did not want to show him how very uncomfortable she felt.

They sat into the car and without looking at her, he replied, "Not at all. I live in Gotham Village as well, West Side."

Pearl's insides shrank. Great. Not only was she constantly haunted by him, he even lived close to where she lived. Now she had an almost palpable reason why she hated coincidences and surprises. She almost wished she could hate him, too.

During the drive, they were both silent. Pearl welcomed the silence. The false intimacy of the drive was choking her. She stared through her window the entire time, trying to will time to drip by faster. The subdued part of her enjoyed the experience, the proximity, but her mind reigned over that part and it did not like what was going on.

When they entered the East Side of Gotham Village and were approaching Mackenzie Street, Pearl remembered her desire to confront Crane and she suddenly grew angry with herself. How could she have allowed herself to be so blind to this perfect opportunity? It seemed too late now, as Crane had veered into Mackenzie Street and she showed him her apartment building. She wanted to speak now, but she could not. She had lost her courage, as well as her opportunity, and she would have to wait for another one. She wished to be brave, and she truly wanted and _needed_ to confront him, but he always managed to render her to a weak state.

She ventured a look in his direction. "Thank you, Dr Crane."

He simply nodded. It seemed he wanted to say something, but he did not. It soon became painfully obvious that it was her cue to exit the car and say goodbye.

"Bye," she murmured and hurried out of the car. Just as she shut the passenger door in place, her world came tumbling down.

She saw some movement from the corner of her left eye, but before she could turn her head, two teenage kids crashed into her. It happened so fast that she could hardly register what was going on. One of them snaked an arm around her waist to keep her in place and the other one went for her purse.

"No!" Pearl screamed, trying to push the two teenage thieves away, and she could hear Crane opening the driver's door, but before he could come to aid her, one of the kids tugged at the purse's wide string painfully hard, making Pearl's body turn around its axis, and snatched the purse from her shoulder with bruising force. The other kid shoved her to the ground and both teenagers ran away fast.

Pearl groaned and tried to push herself from the ground, but a sharp pain exploded in her right shoulder and her arm gave way; her body collided with the concrete pavement again.

"Are you alright?" Crane asked and she noticed him as he was crouching by her lying form. His face was blank, as always, and Pearl felt disappointed because he did not seem worried at all.

She shook her head. "Not quite. My right shoulder is dislocated. The two boys tugged at the purse too hard, and they spun me around. Darn..."

She allowed Crane to pull her up to her feet by the left arm. Despite the excruciating pain throbbing in her right shoulder and down her right arm, his touch still managed to burn her skin and make it tingle, overpowering the pain for a brief moment.

"I can take you to Gotham General, Nurse Jones," Crane offered.

Pearl could still not decide whether his politeness was genuine or false.

"No, no need for that and no need to call the police, either. I never carry anything of value in my purse. Those two kids will be disappointed. It's all in the pockets of my jeans." She smiled feebly. "I only had a sandwich and a bottle of water in my purse."

"Are you certain your shoulder is dislocated, Nurse Jones? If such is the case, you should see a doctor," he stated matter-of-factly.

"I have a history of repeated dislocations, I'm afraid. I was a very clumsy teenager," Pearl confessed.

She hated to ask him this, she truly did, but going to a hospital would be a complete waste of time for her and for any doctor who would have to treat her. She knew how dislocated shoulders were treated. She had been through the process many times. She knew she was crazy, but the process of re-aligning a shoulder had been easy for her so far and she only wanted the pain to go away. She had a low level of pain, regrettably.

Besides, this was her opportunity to talk to Crane, albeit the situation was highly unusual.

Casting her pride aside, she spoke, "Dr Crane, I hate to ask this of you, but...Would you be willing to perform a manual relocation of my shoulder?"

The moment she voiced her request she regretted it. She felt she had gone too far. She was becoming too caught up, and she was afraid that deep down, she wanted to spend more time with Crane, but she refused to investigate whether that was true or not. She was scared that the truth might scald her beyond repair. She narrowed the fact to only one truth – her shoulder was dislocated and as Dr Crane went through medical school, she needed his help, no matter how disturbing that might have seemed.

This time, he remained silent and immersed in his private mental debate for only twenty-three seconds. She actually counted.

"Very well, then," he replied politely.

"We should, uhm, go up to my apartment." She blushed as she said that, biting her lip hard in punishment, to berate herself for going so far.

"Of course. I cannot do it here." A ghost of a smile passed his lips, and Pearl smiled back before she could change her mind about the smile.

He followed her silently as they walked the stairs to the third floor where her apartment was located. She cradled her right arm carefully, trying not to think at all. A blank head would be her best choice. Clumsily, she tried to unlock the door of her apartment with her left hand, but she had trouble accomplishing such a simple task. Without a word of warning, Crane's fingers brushed hers, shocking her skin and her soul. He took the keys from her hand and unlocked the door himself.

They stepped into the apartment, he closing the door behind them, while she decided the kitchen would be as good a place as any for him to perform the manual relocation on her shoulder.

She was very nervous, so she babbled a little. "Thank God my next-door neighbours are away. In case I scream, I won't need to feel embarrassed." She blushed heavily. "I don't endure pain well..."

He seemed to ponder on her statement for a few seconds. Then, he put his briefcase on the kitchen table and folded his coat over a chair. Again, without any warning, he stepped behind her and helped her out of her jacket, very gently, barely touching her at all.

"Thank you," she whispered, confused.

"Do you have any strong pain-killers?" he asked, still standing behind her, making her discomfort rise. "Vicodin, Demerol, maybe?"

"Vicodin," she replied. She rose from her chair. "I'll take one now."

"Since you have a history of repeated dislocations, I assume you are in possession of a ready sling."

She nodded, excused herself for a moment and walked to her bedroom bathroom. She swallowed a Vicodin and took a ready sling from the bathroom cupboard. When she returned to the kitchen, Crane was still standing behind the chair, waiting patiently, his face disguising anything that he might have felt. Without another word, Pearl put the sling on the table and sat down, taking a deep calming breath, bracing herself for the pain that was to come.

She closed her eyes as his hands descended upon her shoulder and began to work on it. As he bended her elbow at a 90-degree angle, she expected the first surge of pain, but he worked gently and she sighed in relief, hoping that was not false relief. Her arm was on fire from so many sensations surging through her veins where his fingers touched her arm enveloped in a simple, thin sleeve of a shirt. He continued to rotate her arm and shoulder inward, towards her chest, creating an L shape. Pearl was holding her breath as he slowly, but steadily rotated her arm and shoulder outward, keeping her upper arm stationary all the while.

Pearl expected so much pain, like on previous occasions when doctors performed manual re-locations on her right shoulder, but the pain she expected to come was absent. It was not the Vicodin she took only a minute ago. It was him, and he left marks up and down her skin with his fingers. She was marked by him all over her arm and shoulder, and suddenly she felt in such a daze she hardly knew where she ended and he began.

As the shoulder popped back into its joint, awarding Pearl with immediate relief, she snapped her eyes open and gasped in surprise. She had been gone for a whole minute, rotating around the axis of her inner universe like a floating, mindless object, oblivious to everything but his fingers on her shoulder. When he was done, his fingers left her recovering limb and she felt very cold where previously, she had been hot.

She stared at him in wonder as he crouched in front of her, supporting her arm and shoulder in a sling, touching her arm again, and again, and again, as he adjusted the sling. Pearl had no idea what the hell was going on inside her and around her, but she felt like she was charged with electricity and spinning. She saw his lips were moving, explaining something to her, but she heard none of his words. She tried to fight herself so hard that she was beginning to tremble and perspire, but ultimately her struggle was to no avail.

She betrayed her beliefs, her principles, her rules.

She decided to take a step over the edge and fall into endless darkness.

She leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. It felt like in her dreams, fire against ice, ice against fire. Both of them _were_ a bit of both. She felt him stiffen and he moved away fast, startling her from her strange daze. She fluttered her eyelids as if trying to wake up and when his clear blue orbs came into her view, she gasped in shock. What had she _done_?

She felt physically sick in her stomach and she wanted to run away, disappear, cease to exist.

_Oh, shit, shit, shit! Damn it, why did I do that? Damn it! Fuck! FUCK!_

A tear slid down her cheek and she opened her mouth to say how sorry she was, but to her immense surprise, and morbid relief, he approached her this time, returning back with his lips and resting them against hers, claiming them in a deep kiss. She felt as if he had breathed her into himself entirely, that nothing was left of her. The fingers of her left hand raked through his soft, long hair, sliding down his nape and landing on his shoulder.

At that moment, he broke the kiss and stood up. She looked up, half dreaming, and woke up immediately when she saw fury and disgust in his eyes. He was breathing heavily and he seemed angry. More than angry. _Enraged_.

"This is...unacceptable," he hissed, to himself, not looking at her.

"Goodbye, Nurse Jones," he spoke afterwards, with a firm, stiff voice that was full of bile and poison.

He grabbed his coat and took his briefcase from the table, and stormed out of her apartment. Pearl had never seen the composed Dr Crane like this, and she had never seen herself like this.

"Oh my God..." she whispered, clamming her mouth shut with her left hand and giving in to a fit of convulsive sobbing.

How was she ever going to face him after this?

How would she ever be able to live with herself?

She was certain now that this was how doom felt.


	10. Chapter 9

While writing this chapter, I had _Pretty When You Cry_ by Vast on repeat.

DISCLAIMER: Dr Crane would like to point out that no one owns him. He also specified that he will not be painting any eggs for Easter because...well, he's Crane! He'll be too busy gassing people, anyway.

The author of this story, however, wishes you to celebrate Happy Easter!

* * *

**CHAPTER 9**

**/ \**

"Yes, well...My car won't start," was her reply to his inquiry.

This was the opportunity. The thought stretched through his veins, hot and demanding.

He had been promising himself for a long time that any day now, he would destroy her. His reason had charged her with some heavy offences almost at the beginning of their acquaintance. She was a link to his past, and she was not allowed to be any kind of link to any period of his past life before his eighteenth year of existence. A great part of him knew that it was not her fault. Neither of them had planned for such a coincidence to happen, he was certain. She was absolutely clueless as to who he truly was. But the smaller part of him, the stronger one, knew that guilty or not, she had to be erased from his life, shoved over the edge of sanity and not survive the fall.

It was the only way to sever the cord linking him to his past once and for all. No more delaying the moment. Tonight was the night when the final step would be taken.

She would not be a constant reminder anymore. She would not tease him with strange, foreign feelings he had experienced within and outside the circle of her presence in his life. He could not identify the feelings, nor did he want to. Some things were better left untouched until they were completely forgotten and did not exist in any dimension any longer.

_Alea iacta est_, he mused to himself. It would be Pearl's moment tonight when she would be able to apply the phrase _memento mori_ to her own life.

_Finally_, the voice purred inside him, but he ignored it. He did not need to be reminded of his responsibilities by his other self, the part of him that he had been ashamed of for so long, the part of him that he had locked behind the wall of impenetrable ice arching towards a non-existing warmth inside his soul and kept returning to him in the form of a voice. His only weakness, aside from her. Not tonight.

"Where do you live?" he asked dispassionately, expecting nothing else but complete co-operation on her part.

Although with obvious, painful reluctance, she gave him an answer and complied with his wishes. Soon enough, she was sitting in his car, unbeknownst to the fact that she was sliding towards her own doom very smoothly. During the drive, they were both silent. His mind was completely empty. He was not thinking about the very near future; he was not trying to picture her pretty, trusting face deformed by ugly grimaces of fear. He did not want to imagine her like this, not yet. He would just do it, put his mask on and poison her with such an amount of fear that she had never felt before, nor would she ever feel again afterwards. Her mind would dissolve to completion and Pearl would be no more. She would cease to exist in every sense of the word.

Subconsciously, his fingers snaked around the steering wheel in a fiercer grip and the voice inside him laughed at his reaction._ He_ smiled at himself at the back of his mind and that irritated him. He forced himself to relax, and by the time they reached her apartment building, he had managed to return to his normal, cold, unfeeling self.

He wanted her to invite him in, for one of the usual reasons that women liked to come up – a cup of coffee or tea, maybe. Was she that kind of woman? He was not sure. At most times, she was very easy to read, but sometimes she was wrapped in a cocoon of mystery and was just as impenetrable as he was. Was it her defence mechanism? At the moment, he actually did not care. All he wanted to accomplish was to get inside the core of her world and destroy her. If she invited him in, it would be an even greater triumph. She would be, in a manner of speaking, destroyed on her own volition.

"Bye," she murmured and hurried out of the car.

It seemed that he would have to step out of the car, play nice and invite himself in, as she seemed unwilling to do so herself. At this point, it did not matter what she would think of him, or how she would try to analyse his actions.

Apparently, someone, an angel or a demon of some sorts, was on his side tonight because as soon as she exited his car and closed the passenger door, she screamed and he saw her struggling with two teenage thieves.

_Perfect_, he thought and smiled to himself briefly.

He found her lying on the ground, the young thieves long gone. She was struggling to get up, but he could see that something was wrong with her right arm; she was in pain and tried not to show it.

"Are you alright?" he asked, crouching beside her body, not really caring whether she was in pain or not. Her physical pain was not a factor of any significance in his game of cat and mouse.

He helped her up on her feet and listened to her rambling about the thieves and her shoulder.

"I have a history of repeated dislocations, I'm afraid. I was a very clumsy teenager," Pearl confessed.

She had his attention again. He could offer to realign her shoulder. He had the proper knowledge. As if on cue, she served herself to him on a silver plate.

"Dr Crane, I hate to ask this of you, but...Would you be willing to perform a manual relocation of my shoulder?"

He stared at her for a few moments, relishing in her blushes of shame. It must have taken a lot of effort from her to ask him for help. Her discomfort was almost palpable and he could read on her face how much she hated herself for having asked him such a question.

"Very well, then," he replied politely.

"We should, uhm, go up to my apartment." She blushed as she said that, biting her lip hard in punishment, to berate herself for going so far, he imagined.

"Of course. I cannot do it here." A ghost of a smile passed his lips, and Pearl smiled back before she could change her mind about the smile, he knew.

He followed her silently as they walked the stairs to the third floor where her apartment was located. He could feel the excitement and anticipation slowly creeping into his soul, and he was becoming more and more eager to put an end to his past, once and for all. They stepped into the apartment, he closing the door behind them, while she decided the kitchen would be as good a place as any for him to perform the manual relocation on her shoulder.

She was very nervous, so she babbled a little. "Thank God my next-door neighbours are away. In case I scream, I won't need to feel embarrassed." She blushed heavily. "I don't endure pain well..."

_Better and better_, he mused to himself. He would not have to worry about her possible screams drawing any attention from the neighbours. They were alone and she would not be heard. This evening was, indeed, his perfect opportunity.

He decided to perform the manual relocation on her shoulder before spraying her with the toxin and send her reeling into the mad world, and then right into decay. It would be a kind of goodbye, he mused. He felt the need to say goodbye to her and he did not understand or like his need, but it would be for the last time, so he decided to indulge his last need he had for her.

He never touched people much, only when trying to make a point to his patients and truly scare them out of their minds when other methods would not work properly. He had not touched Pearl much, but this time, his fingers spent much of their time on her soft, warm skin, his skin moulding into hers. It was a bizarre sensation, wanted by the subdued part of him that belonged to his voice; absolutely hated by the larger portion of his being. He felt out of place, disoriented and confused, and he was just not the sort of man who would likely give in to confusion. It was just not who he was.

As the shoulder popped back into its joint, immense relief washed over him. He would not have to feel her tender skin vibrating under his fingers any more. He did not need her, not in _that_ way. He shouldn't, and he wouldn't. It was disgusting, against all of his principles. Her ability to stir _something_ inside him added fuel to his fire of hatred for her. With resentment, he crouched before her still form and struggled to adjust her arm in a sling by touching her as little as was possible. Oh, how he hated her for forcing him to struggle with himself in the first place! At times, he became someone else. He became Jonathan, the entity foreign to the important Dr Crane, the man – no, boy! – he used to be around her sister. The voice did not speak in his favour. It was too pleased, therefore it remained silent. Damned be her and the voice!

He was done with the sling. He sighed inwardly, feeling stressed out. He had not felt stressed out in years. What on Earth was this unimportant, disposable human doing to him? He would fall into pieces if he did not act soon. Killing _her_ would be the best thing he had ever done in his life.

He realized that Sherry Squires was nothing compared to her sister. The younger sister was the true demon.

He explained to her briefly how she should tend to her shoulder, although she was a nurse and must have known those things, and he advised her not to use that arm for a couple of days; if she felt that was necessary, she could take three days off work. The explanations were useless, as she would never get the chance to return to her job ever again, but talking relaxed the tension in him a little.

He was about to get up to his feet, his one intention to open his suitcase, find the burlap mask and do what he did best – inspire with dread – but he was stopped by something so unexpected that it punched the breath right out of his lungs.

Pearl kissed him.

She leaned forward, breached _his_ personal space that had been impenetrable up until this moment and _kissed_ him. Kissed. _Him!_

A surge of scalding electricity travelled through his entire body and he stiffened, ready to explode. He moved away fast, his eyes completely wide in utter disbelief. _She kissed him_. She fluttered her eyelids as if trying to wake up and when their eyes connected, she gasped in shock. As traces of clear panic began to contort her facial features, he suddenly found himself unable to _not_ stare at her. He expected the voice to speak for him, laugh at him and turn him away from her, but the voice remained treacherously silent. He knew why. _Every_ part of him wanted her and he did not know how to stop himself, as he had never been in such a terrible position before.

She shined before him in a world full of ugliness and things he hated. She actually mattered when everything else was meaningless. He tried to not see her fragile beauty, but he did. She pulled him in with an invisible force and before he was aware of his actions, he approached her, returning back with his lips and resting them against hers, claiming them in a deep kiss. His mind was reeling, falling, exploding. He tried to breathe her in, suck her very soul inside of him. He simply _needed_ her the way he had never needed a human being before.

The cold fingers of her left, healthy hand raked through his soft, long hair, sliding down his nape and landing onto his shoulder. That simple action made him aware of himself and of his actions. It propelled him into reality and shocked him once again. Disgust replaced desire, reason supplanted emotion. He broke the hateful kiss and took a long step away from her. He felt conflicted, but strong enough to control himself. He was so enraged he could easily begin to shout nonsense at her, but he did not allow himself to go that far.

In that moment, he had to escape her, put the scattered pieces of himself in place.

He had to get away from her.

He...

He felt...

Not, it couldn't be, but it was, right there, a shadow, quivering on the surface on his inner lake. He couldn't stop the ripples.

He felt –

_Fear._

He was _afraid_ of _her_, of what she could do to him, and of the power she actually held over him.

He allowed his mind to be vulgar, to scream profanities when his mouth could not.

Was it real? It was. He was afraid of her.

_Afraid_. _Fear_, inside of _him_.

"This is...unacceptable," he hissed to himself, not looking at her.

"Goodbye, Nurse Jones," he spoke afterwards, with a firm, stiff voice that was full of bile and poison.

He grabbed his coat, took his briefcase from the table, and stormed out of her apartment. Once inside his car, he hit the steering wheel with the palms of his hands several times until the skin of his palms began to tingle with a smarting sensation.

Damn her, _damn her_, **damn her**!

"Compose yourself," he growled, rage oozing from his every pore. "Compose yourself, or you are not worthy to live. I swear to every god people believe in that you are not worthy to live if you do not. _Compose_. Yourself!"

Need you. Dream You. Find You. Taste You. Need you. Feel you.

"Stop it!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "Stop it or I'll stop you!"

Hate you. Smash you. Scar you. Erase You.

Kill you.

_Kill you_.

That sounded much better.

"Yes," he whispered hotly. "Kill you. Right now. Now!"

* * *

He had never felt so ready for anything than he did now. He did not wish to exaggerate, but he had been waiting for such a moment his entire life, it seemed. With every step he conquered, with every set of stairs left behind, he felt more elated and more vindicated. Complete freedom of the soul would be his lot at last. No more pretty faces to haunt him and disturb his inner peace. His inner lake was, as of yet, still trembling and the ripples that had grown into waves were not yet subdued, but he did not mind his inner turmoil anymore. After all, it would all be over in a matter of a few minutes.

He reached her floor, focused his eyes on her apartment door. All around him was silence. The floor was absolutely empty. Only two beings occupied it: the predator and the prey. He smiled at the notion. Indeed, he was the predator, and she was the prey. She had managed to escape her destined misfortune too many times. No more. Tonight, she would have to meet her fate. It was an almost god-like notion. _Her_ life was in _his_ hands.

He looked over his shoulder, just in case; one could never be too careful. Then, he pressed the button-like doorbell and listened to the loud tingling of the metallic melody. His burlap mask waiting in his hands, he listened for sounds in her apartment. He could hear nothing at first, just his whispering breathing. Then, soft steps reached his ears, bare feet hitting the floor. He smiled and put the burlap sack over his head, closing his mouth over the built-in re-breather, his right hand ready to jerk upwards and send a concentrated dose of the white powder flying into her face.

The door opened and for a moment, he saw a beautiful, pale face, shining like the moon in the darkness of the hallway. There were traces of dried tears on her cheeks, the tears that had either dried of their own accord or she had wiped away. For a split second, he allowed her to register the burlap mask and the stranger who wore it.

As her eyes began to widen in shock and her mouth began to form an O that would surely have a loud gasp following it, his right wrist shot upwards, towards her face, and she inhaled the poison of madness. She began to cough and he stepped inside her apartment, closing and locking the door behind him.

_Memento mori_, _Pearl_, he mused to himself, _for you are going to die_.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Crane's true fears were not presented in this chapter. His fear of Pearl is just one morsel of his fears. But it was definitely enough to anger him.


	11. Chapter 10

**CHAPTER 10**

**/ \**

She did not want to open the door. She was more than ready to wallow in misery and make plans about quitting her job, and Gotham. After tonight, she could not possibly stay in the city, anywhere near _him_. She was too mortified, too defeated; left without any honour and will to continue her existence in Gotham. She really believed that if she stayed, she'd have to return to Arkham as a patient, not as a nurse.

But despite her morbid musings, she wiped away her cold tears, walked to the door and opened it, expecting her neighbour from the apartment above hers to come asking her again if she could borrow some sugar, or some coffee, or some other thing. That woman never had any time to go to the store, so she always begged her neighbours for small favours that she never returned. Pearl didn't mind that; at least, she would see a normal, human face who wanted nothing from her but some sugar. She liked that idea.

And so, she opened the door and gasped.

Her mind _knew_ everything before half a second could pass. It couldn't be him, it just _couldn't_... She had been expecting him, but only in her head. She did not really think he existed, or that he would actually come to her, _for_ her. He was her guilt, but he just could not be real. He could _not be real_! She had been battling with imaginary fears for years, like Don Quixote; they had been _imaginary_.

Then why was he _here_?

She opened her mouth in shock; she spread her lips to scream, but something happened. Something choked the scream in her throat, something that burned like fire, like years ago when she ate too much chili, but this burning sensation was even worse, at least ten times worse. Oh, God, it burned so much!

He closed the door behind him and began to approach her like a sleek, tall predator, his surreal face throbbing before her eyes. She began to cough, her futile attempt at spewing out the fire scalding her throat and travelling down to her lungs. The more she coughed, the more it burned, and she could see nothing, nothing at all, as heavy tears were streaming down her face in perfect, wet ribbons; tears of pain, and tears of fear.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, his voice gruff and strangely preternatural. It felt like the buzzing of a huge bee, but it was still a human voice, stinging her ears through the strange, ethereal buzzing all around her. It felt as if the air had been made of electricity and she could feel the invisible electricity settling on her strangely sensitive skin. It prickled it with sharp teeth; sharp, sharp, sharp teeth.

"It will not hurt for much longer," he spoke again, reassuring her with false notes.

She wiped the tears away fervently, trying to see, her skin cracking apart as she moved her arms. What she saw only made her cry more. There he was, the predator, approaching her in his sinister way. Her greatest nightmare, her very own guilt, had come true. It was real, it was actually real, and it was after her!

"You...c-c-can't be..._real_!" she whimpered. "_I_ made stories about you, in my _head_!"

She screamed in her head, _Sherry, I'm sorry I never told them about him, that I saw him with you! I am so sorry, Sherry!_

She began to crumble to the ground, her knees giving way to the overwhelming pain, but before she could meet the floor, his hands caught her roughly and pulled her up none too gently, shaking her wildly. Her injured shoulder screamed in protest and she whimpered, but dared not scream aloud.

"No, no, _not_ yet," he ordered and she closed her eyes, willing him away with her mind. She was so frightened, so very frightened. Her heart was pounding in her chest crazily, so much so that she was sure she was going to have a heart attack any minute now.

"Look at me," he said.

She shook her head.

_Go away. You are not real, you are not real, you are not real_...

"It is not a request," he growled. "Open your eyes!"

She was afraid of what might happen if she did not open her eyes, so she did, whimpering as she saw the cloaked face again, the face that had been haunting her even since she was a little girl of eight. She saw his eyes for the first time now; she had imagined them to be black, with a tint of red surrounding their core, but they were blue, insanely blue and very beautiful. They seemed so very familiar, but she was unable to think clearly and connect the ethereal eyes to any other person she knew. One coherent thought formed in her head: Hell was not black after all; hell was turquoise.

"I'm dreaming," she breathed hysterically, "it's one of my nightmares, I know! Wake up, wake up..." she cried, cupping her hot cheeks with sweaty, shivering hands, her eyes darting crazily to the left and to the right.

He chuckled. "You won't wake up from _this_ nightmare anytime soon, Pearl."

His fingers burned marks into her skin and she tried to shake herself away from him, but he was too strong for her swiftly deteriorating body.

"H-h-how do...do you...know...my name?" she choked out, struggling very hard to speak at all. Her throat felt so very constricted.

It was a stupid question. Of course he knew her name; he came for her, to kill her, like he did her sister. Of course he knew her name.

She chuckled crazily, the laughter consisting of hysteria and irony and fear. "Of course _you_ know my name!"

"Who do you see?" he asked, the question spilling from his mouth like a poisonous viper. "Is it...spiders?" he said gleefully. "Or is it something else, _someone_ else?"

She shook her head violently. "Not spiders. Only _you_."

"I? Who am I, then? _Who_ am I?" he demanded. He shook her shoulders, making her yelp in pain.

He released her from his grip and she fell to the ground like a shot bird, almost completely lifeless. She wanted to scream in pain when her body came into contact with the hard floor, but she could not. She had spent her energy with the one yelp and the burning came back, suffocating her. She could not breathe properly; she knew that she was slowly beginning to choke. She would choke. She had always imagined it as the worst kind of way to die, followed immediately by drowning. To choke...it seemed awful, and it felt awful.

"No..." she whispered with difficulty. She did not want to die, but she did not have the strength to fight him. Suddenly, she wanted to hit him so badly, to claw his beautiful eyes out of their sockets and rip his granite heart out of his chest. He killed her sister, and now he was going to kill her, and no one would know who he was, or what he did. _No one_ would know.

What a sad, miserable truth that was. It was all her heart because she never told the detective that she saw this man. She deserved it all; she truly believed she deserved the punishment.

She rolled from her side onto her back with great difficulty, causing the burning in her body to intensify and take more of her breath away. He stepped over her, planting his tall feet on either side of her hurting, fragile body. Then, he slouched forward a little and rested his hands against his knees, arching above her like doom incarnate. She cringed inwardly, but she did not have enough strength to cringe away from him physically.

She swallowed with pain and opened her mouth to speak. She was determined to speak even if it killed her; even if it would be the last thing she ever did.

"I...hate...you...Scare...crow..." she breathed out, then gave in to painful coughing. She wanted to stop coughing, but she could not. Would the coughing finally suffocate her? Was this pathetic death how she would go? She started to think about Dr Crane. If only she had not chased him away; if only he had stayed for a while longer; if only he could have been there to save her from the madman coaxing her own life right out of her. Then, she thought of Sherry, her dear Sherry, waiting on the other side for her with her hands extended and grinning beautifully.

"Sherry..." she mouthed the name. "J..." She wanted to say Jonathan, but she had to cough again.

"What did you call me?" his voice rasped out to her.

"Scare...crow..." she coughed out. "Isn't that...what...you...are...ki...ki...killer..."

She was wheezing now, trying to catch her breath with open mouth, like a fish on dry land, but only little air would come to her. His scary masked face was beginning to dissipate in front of her eyes; only the turquoise eyes remained alive and bright in the darkness that was beginning to envelope her. She was going to die. The turquoise Hell was waiting.

"Sherry...sorry...I ne...never..."

Suddenly, he lifted her in his arms and sat her down on one of her kitchen chairs.

"How do you know me?" he growled, that strange, ethereal voice of a scarecrow, a real scarecrow from her own nightmares.

She smiled feebly, with her eyes closed, her head lolling forward, but his hands kept pushing it upwards with rough movements. Would he stop doing that? It was hurting her, and she felt really sick in the stomach.

"Saw you... with Dorothy...on Hallo...ween..." she explained very silently with the last amount of energy she had left. She was completely spent now.

She was not afraid anymore. She was so weak that she was not afraid anymore. She was going to die. She could not breathe anymore and she was not trying to catch her breath any longer. Her heart was still beating, but she knew it would not be beating for long.

She fell forward, right into her killer's arms, unconscious, ready for death. Her last thought belonged to Sherry.

* * *

She called him Scarecrow, a killer, someone she saw on Halloween with Dorothy, by whom she meant her sister Sherry.

She had seen him _before_? How was that even _possible_? He had never seen her before the day she came to Arkham for her job interview. Then _how_ had she seen him before, on that night, seventeen years ago, _without him knowing it_?

This was certainly an unexpected, shocking twist of events that he could never have predicted. And then, when he was about to ask her more, find out the entire truth, she lost her consciousness and fell straight into his arms.

_Well, at least you're rid of her now. She'll be dead in two minutes, maybe three._

"Be quiet," he growled his reply to the voice. She could not die now, not yet.

_Don't do it, Jonathan. Don't you do it!_

No, he had to save her. He had to know exactly how much Pearl knew, what she saw and whom she had told. He absolutely _had to know_! He could kill her afterwards, once he had obtained the much needed knowledge, but until then, he simply had to keep her alive.

_No, Jonathan. This is _not_ good. Not good _at all_. Trust _me_! Do not save her! Let her die. She is almost dead. _

"I _have_ to know," he rasped.

Damnation! He finally gassed her, and right before she was supposed to die, she divulged her greatest secret to him – _he_ was her greatest fear. The spectacular fact might have been flattering and thrilling in different circumstances, but she knew that he was the one who killed her sister. She knew the Scarecrow; she had seen him once before; or was it really only one time?

_Why now?_ He screamed inwardly.

_You do not need to know. Let her die. Once she dies, you will be free. Isn't that what you have wanted?_

He shook his head, rage boiling in his blood. Damn her! She really was talented for complicating things, wasn't she? Oh, how he hated her! He had never hated anyone so much in his entire life than he hated Pearl Jones.

The voice, the irrational entity, was saying no. It had always been saying yes, trying to force him into doing things. This time, the situation was different for the first time. His rational part, the part that reigned his consciousness and the greater parts of his unconscious world, was saying yes, and the irrational part was screaming no. But he had to save her, he had to know. Then, he would truly kill her.

_Idiot!_

He ignored the angry voice. He laid the lifeless Pearl on the floor and felt for her heartbeat, pressing one thumb against her right wrist. Her heart was still beating, although feebly. The voice was reeling inside of him, screaming profanities at him and threatening him. Crane chuckled. The human mind was truly priceless at times, even his own. His irrational part that had for years manifested itself as _the voice_ inside of him, the unnamed entity that was Crane himself, was threatening him. He was threatening himself. How very bizarre! But Crane knew that he could not listen to the voice this time; not because the voice always wanted things that he rejected; not because the voice was too free and straightforward. This time, his dark passenger made sense, and that alone did not make any sense.

_It should! You always felt better when you pretended that we are two separate entities, but we are not. Not only I alone, but you yourself know that what you are about to do is _wrong_._

Crane pulled the burlap mask off his head, still measuring Pearl's deteriorating pulse with one hand.

The voice was persistent and would not cease to speak this time, no matter how much he tried to keep it out of his thoughts.

_Do you..._fear_ to involve me in your life, embed me into yourself and make me intertwine with the rest of you? If you allow that, Jonathan, you know you will not hear a voice talking in your head again. You will be free of it, and you will truly be yourself, without the painful, encumbering restraints you have taken upon yourself. You will be _whole_, whereas now, you are always on the brink of falling apart. Just as you are at this very moment._

Crane opened his briefcase and took out a syringe with the anti-dote.

_Don't._

He cradled Pearl's right arm in one hand, rolled up the sleeve with the other and approached the tender skin with the syringe.

_Don't. Do you really like her enough to ruin yourself? _

He was not going to listen to the lying voice. Of course he did not _like_ Pearl. He hated her. He pierced her skin with the sharp needle.

He stopped for a while, listened for the voice, but it was gone. Finally!

He injected the anti-dote into Pearl's vein, then removed the needle from her skin, watching as a tiny drop of blood glistened on her skin.

He really hoped he did the right thing by keeping her alive for a while longer. He truly had to know everything she knew about that night, and more. For the first time in his life, he felt that he was going to become insane if he did not know.

He waited for two minutes; then, he checked Pearl's pulse again and felt that her heart was growing stronger again. Her chest began to heave very slowly and her limbs twitched occasionally, a sign that the anti-dote was truly working. She seemed very beautiful in her poisoned slumber, but he shook the thought away swiftly. She would be fine now; he would leave her alone and the very next day, he would finally obtain the truth from her, he was sure.

He put the empty syringe in his briefcase and was about to close it when his eyes caught the sight of another syringe resting in his briefcase. He always kept a syringe containing the anti-dote in his briefcase for his test subjects, but now there were two. And then, he remembered. The other anti-dote, the one that deleted the effects of his toxin permanently, unless he changed the toxin's formula. His jaw grew taut and his fingers curled into white fists.

He had just given Pearl the other anti-dote by mistake! How could this have happened, _to him_?

If he wanted to kill her, he would have to change the toxin's formula entirely and that would not happen any time soon, certainly not by tomorrow or next week, even!

"No," he growled to himself. "No!"

He raked his fingers through his hair, tugging at the tresses violently. Damnation! He would just have to kill her another way, then. But, he had not done that in years; seventeen years, precisely. He felt very sick all of a sudden. What had he done? He destroyed a simple plan; he had just made things worse and complex for himself. He still had to know, but he felt awful and truly angry with himself.

He screwed up.

He left Pearl's apartment defeated when he should have felt triumphant. No, he would do it tomorrow, no matter what. He would take her life the way he took away her sister's life. He could do it. He had not done it for almost two decades, but he could do it. He did not really have a choice. He imagined snaking his fingers around her thin neck and squeezing the life out of her, but he could not stand that image. Gassing her to death would have felt impersonal and invigorating; strangling her was too personal and too... He did not even want to think about it; he did not want to feel anything, especially not in relation to her. Not ever. He would just have to do whatever he chose to do with her in the end, as long as it ended with her in a coffin.

Until then, he just did not want to think about it, he could not and would not.

Once he was in his car, his cell phone rang. He took the call dispassionately, trying to keep the ripples on the surface of his inner lake far away, as far away as was even possible, given the circumstances.

"Crane," he said.

"She's here," Dr Saint Claire's voice hummed. "Miss Dawes, making trouble, asking questions."

Crane sighed heavily. "At this hour? I'll be there in twenty minutes. Keep her busy. Do not let her leave until I have arrived."

"That's easy. She won't leave until she has spoken to you."

Crane snapped his cell phone shut and smiled. Well, he would get at least _some_ satisfaction tonight.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I hope it's gradually coming across that Crane and the voice are not separate, but are one and the same person. The voice doesn't make Crane do things. In the end, Crane does only what Crane wants to do. The voice is a suppressed part of Crane that, as of yet, he refuses to acknowledge.

CREDITS: I mentioned a dark passenger in Crane. The phrase _dark passenger_ is taken from Jeff Lindsay's Dexter Morgan book series.


	12. Chapter 11

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Crane, Batsy and the Arkham crazies. In fact, I don't even want to.

* * *

**CHAPTER 11**

**/ \**

"A taste of your own medicine...doctor?"

A wave of overpowering nausea was the first thing he felt, and then, the sensation turned into fire, so hot and so demanding that it rendered him entirely helpless. His hands would not move according to his wishes, and neither would his eyes, his lips, his legs, any of his limbs. Even the smallest tissues and fibres of his physical body protested against movement and grew numb, then completely petrified, as the green, snarling monster bored into his face with its fantastic, preternatural eyes. It threatened him with every breath, with every rough touch.

_Get a grip on yourself!_ He screamed inwardly. _It's not a monster, it's the man who calls himself the Batman_.

His heart was beating thunderously, pounding against his ribs, trying to escape his chest through the burning throat. His throat was on fire, scalding, unbearable fire. If he could just swallow...He couldn't, the muscles in his throat were too contracted, and his tongue was absolutely useless. And in his head, the voice was screaming in agony, shouting profanities and pleading – _threatening_ – to be released. He could not take the voice's loud, useless wailing. One more scream and his head would explode. And then, as he tried to swallow again, for he positively had to swallow, the monster approached his face, sending off the vibes of horrible intrusion and reeking dread, and its obsidian eyes demanded attention.

_It's a hallucination, from the toxin... Not a lethal dose... Just a hallucination. It's not real, not real, not real!_

Yet as the monster breathed into him, the black smoke of its insides enveloping his thin frame cruelly, it was more than real and no assurance of his own mind could convince him otherwise. He wanted to ask it, _Who are you?_, but he could not. His mouth was terribly and painfully dry. But the voice responded for him woefully.

_It's Fear himself! We are looking into the eyes of Fear incarnate! _And then, the voice gasped and sighed and screamed again.

Crane's eyes widened and he could not take his staring gaze off the ugly, slimy face of doom.

_Fear himself? Fear himself..._

He began to struggle in the iron grip of the monster, but it shook him and pushed his back against the wall behind him. He could feel his spine groan in pain, and the pain was welcome, for it was the last and only proof that he was still alive and only hallucinating.

"Who are you working for?" the monster snarled. It truly was Fear himself, it was; it had to be.

The voice, now slightly recovered from the initial shock, spoke raggedly.

_He's exposed us. He's made us vulnerable. Now there's nothing left._

Crane barely listened, as he was too preoccupied with staring into the eyes of Fear himself. Involuntary, unwanted images began to flash before his eyes. A small boy, cowering in a corner of a big closet, behind coats, listening to the yelling and threats of his father. A small boy, cowering in a corner of the school toilet for boys, hiding from the bullies who beat him. A youngster, falling in love. A youngster fooled by love. A youngster beaten to a pulp. Pumpkins smashed on his head. A twirling fairy of a girl. Treacherous smiles. A youngster screaming _Never again_! Invisible, metaphorical blood on his hands. Blood of triumph. And now, _this_. He'd come so far and now – _this_. He could almost...cry.

"Who are you working for Crane?" Fear spat through his teeth, ready to strike at any moment.

_The voice sang in his head. From a boy to a bully to a master of fear, la la la, and now back again, down the road in reverse, from a master of fear to a little frightened boy, la la la!_

And then, it giggled. The voice _giggled_. Crane knew and felt that the voice had fully recovered, and now, the little, mean thing was taunting him. _He_ was taunting _himself_.

_That's right. I'm back to my old self, Jon. And you know what? Now you finally need me. _

"Ra's al Ghul," Crane whispered, trying to ignore the voice, trying to please Fear.

"Ra's al Ghul is _dead_," Fear retorted, not pleased in the slightest, which made Crane shudder inwardly and prompt the voice into another bout of giggling. "Who are you working for?" Fear repeated, and Crane knew that a wrong answer might just cost him his life.

He hesitated one moment too long and Fear showed his displeasure. "_Crane_!" he groaned loudly and Crane's knees wavered dangerously.

_You know what he's done?_ The voice asked_. He's exposed_ you, _Jonathan_.

_How?_ Crane offered a weak mental response.

_Shut him off first. He's bothering us, and you're no good under the influence of your toxin. But first things first – shut the bat off. _

Crane obeyed, although feebly. "Dr Crane isn't here right now," he stated weakly, his voice trembling, "but if you'd like to make an appointment..."

_Good one_! The voice exclaimed and began to laugh. _There's still some humour in this scrawny bag of bones_!

Fear did not agree. He was not humoured. But the sound of shrieking sirens chased him away at last and although he shoved the victim of his blackness against the dirty, debris-covered, wet ground with bruising force, Crane felt relief. And now, he could drown in the devil's water in peace. There was nothing left for him. The toxin was working its venomous magic on his brain and he was good for nothing anymore. The irony of it.

_Now, don't be so pessimistic_, the voice proceeded. _But you're right about one thing, I hear its whisperings in the vaults of your frozen world of subconsciousness. That_ bat, the voice spoke with disgust, _stripped you of your essence_. _Can't you see it, Jon? If you're not fearsome, you're_ nothing. _Your life is one yawning vacancy._ _No friends, no girlfriend or wife, no place you can call your real home. All you've got is fear and your job, and if someone takes that away, you're a nobody_.

"Stop," Crane whispered, choking out the simple word with great difficulty. The world around him was spinning inside a mass of ugly colours, brown and black, dirty green and obnoxiously purple. He was falling apart, and the voice was not helping him.

_You're so damn empty and that's your drawback. The pretty Pearl made you feel fear – first defeat. And now, the pest of the bat fried your brains. So, what do you have right now? Nothing_.

Crane sighed and tried to roll over to his side, trying to escape the voice, trying to escape himself, but he was not even given this chance. The Gotham police officers began to invade the cellar, arresting the patients he himself had declared insane for the sake of Carmine Falcone, and now they were approaching him.

_Just one more thing, Jonathan. You can silence me forever. I am you, as you know well. You've become empty and a nothing because you've been taking the matter of fear too carefully. You can't be in control all the time. Sure, it makes the pain and bad memories go away, but it leaves you with nothing. If you want to be somebody, you have to let go a little. Now, let me in and become whole again. Think about it. No more voices in your head and you will be complete. No more emptiness and no more chances of feeling fear ever again, just triumph and the power of being _truly_ fearsome. Stop pretending to be a Scarecrow_. Be _the Scarecrow_.

Two police officers came to the spot where he was lying and lifted him up roughly, handcuffs at the ready. But they had no idea, absolutely no damn idea about what he'd just been through. He had just had a taste of his own medicine, and humiliation was not all he had suffered. He had been torn apart and ripped open, exposed and laid bare before his very eyes. He had been made vulnerable and the horrible, true realizations he has just learned about his own emptiness and meaninglessness were terribly overwhelming. All those years of struggle and control for nothing! The mask was just a poor prop, like he was. The words of the voice, of himself, echoed in his head, gnawing at his bran, tormenting him – a never-ending bad song. He began to shudder, feeling insane, so absolutely torn apart, destroyed and insane.

Because of a bat.

He smirked to himself, then allowed his lips to stretch into a wide grin. The next thing he felt were his lungs expanding in loud, roaring laughter. It was laughter of pure despair, but he knew that to an outsider, it sounded, and looked, like the laughter of an absolute, crazy maniac. The sort of maniac that made people frown and whisper to each other, _Look, now _that_ one's a bit cuckoo_.

He imagined his patients and esteemed colleagues saying that, and it made him laugh even harder. His laughter stirred the police officers into action. They called for help and before he knew it, he was pushed against the ground and laid on his quivering chest. He wouldn't make things easy for them; no he wouldn't, so he began to wriggle and fight back. He was not as helpless and weak as they thought him to be. He made them struggle with him, alright, and when they were finished with their chore, they were panting and sweat was trickling down their faces. He was defeated, bound by a straitjacket, but at least he made them perspire with exertion. How many times had he prescribed the use of a straitjacket for his patients? The irony of it! So he laughed a bit more, and by the time three orderlies put him in an empty cell and two doctors came to his side, one of them the co-conspirator St Clair, he was so spent that he had to stop. Lucky St Clair, he was not in the cellar when it was invaded. Lucky St Clair.

Laughter was an agreeable alternative to tears of anger and despair, and it worked. Now he was dry of any regrets and he could rest.

* * *

_She fell forward, right into her killer's arms, unconscious, ready for death. Her last thought belonged to Sherry._

Pearl woke up with a startled gasp. Her eyes popped open in one frantic motion and her first reaction was to cup her cheeks with her cold, clammy hands.

She was alive.

She remembered the dream that was not a dream. The Scarecrow in her apartment, his intention to kill her. She was dying, and she had a blurry recollection of falling into her killer's arms. Her last thought belonged to Sherry – she saw her sister dressed in a beautiful, perfectly white flowing dress, her feet bare and her beautiful blonde hair loose and pouring over her dainty shoulders. She was smiling widely at her little sister and offered her a hand. She invited Pearl to follow her. Pearl began to follow her sister into a white light and then – and then she woke up, confused and incredibly sore.

She was alive?

She had faced her greatest fear, in the physical form of the man himself, and yet, she survived.

Confused and weak, she pushed herself on her knees and became hot, then cold immediately afterwards. Swiftly, she scrambled to her aching feet, limped to the bathroom and retched violently. As her body relieved itself of the burning sickness, her thoughts were whirling, trying to reassemble and create an image that would make sense. With trepidation, she remembered the Scarecrow again and as soon as she was finished with emptying the meagre contents of her irritated stomach and rinsing her mouth, she scrambled to the cupboard in her bathroom and took out a razor. Weakly, she thought that a razor was not a good weapon; in fact, it was not a weapon at all, but if the killer from her past was still in her apartment, she could at least cut him hard before he tried to kill her again – and succeed, this time.

She grabbed the edge of the sink and lifted herself to her feet, her knees wavering as she tried to walk. The hand that was free of the razor flew to her forehead and she tried to figure out what exactly was the substance that he had forced into her. Her head was throbbing with exploding pain, and her entire body felt very weak and almost numb. Her skin was sore and the shoulder she had dislocated before the attack was screaming. But she had to shove aside the physical discomfort and focus on the killer that might still be lurking in her apartment.

Overwhelmed by fear, she checked her bedroom, living room, study and kitchen. Relieved but puzzled, she checked each room again, including the closets, three times to make sure he really was gone. Then, she collapsed onto the kitchen floor and breathed in deeply, stretching her lungs and making sure once more that she was truly alive. Dawn was beginning to send its light through the kitchen window, but the black shadows of the night that she survived by some extraordinary miracle were still present, as was her fear of the Scarecrow, mixed with mind-blowing relief. She was alive, and yet, her relief was tainted. Would he come back?

She began to cry on the floor, giving in to all of the emotions that had rushed through her since the moment Dr Crane exited her apartment and up until the fortunate moment she woke up alive. The more she cried, the better she felt and fingers of rationality began to stroke her frightened and battered, yet relieved soul. She knew she had to jump into action. She would call the police first, and then she would call Dr Crane, to tell him she was taking a week off and in hope that he would offer her words of comfort that she needed so much. After all she had been through on his account, she still wanted him to comfort her. The thought sent longing through her veins, but it was weak; the sensation of last night overpowered it almost completely.

Pearl forced herself to scramble to her feet. She walked to the kitchen table, sat down on a chair and reached for the phone. She wanted to call Angela too, but she had not replaced her old cell phone that she destroyed on the day Jessica called her. All phone numbers were lost to her, but right now, she only needed one number: 911.

She was about to lift the phone handle from the cradle when it began to ring. The unexpected sound startled her, but she pulled herself together and answered the call.

"Hello?" she asked, just now realizing how hoarse she sounded.

"Hi, Pearl, it's Angela." Before Pearl could respond, Angela continued, "Thank God I have your home number. I tried calling your cell, but it said the number was disconnected."

Pearl cleared her throat, calmed down by the fact that she was speaking to a normal human being. Her thoughts of the Scarecrow were not far away, at least for a few moments. "Yes...it had an accident. I'll buy a new one and give you my new number."

Angela sighed in excitement. "Pearl, I know you're coming to work in the afternoon, but I didn't want you to be the last one to know, and the media always distort facts. I have such juicy news for you! Horrible, but juicy!"

Pearl had to smile. Angela's enthusiasm was contagious and right now, Angela's voice and words were her oasis amidst chaos. She truly wanted to talk to Angela. She had never enjoyed talking to a human being so much in her entire life. After her experience, any trace of normalcy was a blessing. Maybe she could ask Angela to come over and stand by her side. She really needed someone to be with her as she called the police and relieved the events of the previous evening. She was happy to discover that she considered Angela to be her good friend.

"Tell me," she asked nicely.

"Pearl, I really hope you are sitting because what I am about to tell you is so shocking that it will blow your mind away!"

Angela took a deep breath and began to talk. "Last night, there was a police raid in our hospital. The Batman, oh yes, the _Batman_ visited our asylum and beat up some nasty guys."

"What?" Pearl intervened, truly surprised. "The Batman? You're kidding!"

"I know, but there is much more. It turns out that those nasty guys were in illegal employ. Some of them worked for _Dr Crane himself_!"

Pearl was not sure she heard right. "W-what did you say?"

"Yes, I know!" Angela squealed. "I almost fell flat on my ass when I heard that!"

Suddenly, Pearl had the feeling of her heart falling into her soles. "W-why?" she stammered.

"I don't know what exactly they were doing, but one other thing leaked out. Dr Crane has been performing experiments on _our patients_. He's been poisoning them with a strange substance that made them rave. That explains so much, Pearl! Do you remember how we told you that sometimes, some patients went a little more crazy than usual despite being on medications? That was Crane's doing. He is the Scarecrow we've been wandering about! Apparently, he wore a burlap mask resembling a scarecrow's face and he scared the patients. Pearl, can you believe this awfulness?"

Pearl could not believe the awfulness. Dr Crane, a criminal. Dr Crane performing experiments. The man that she was in love with, accused of such atrocities? Pearl's soul began to shudder and she was falling apart again. Tears began to pool in her eyes and spill over the rims in two hot rivulets.

What did she feel?

Disbelief. Shock. Disappointment. Pain. Denial. Resignation. Her heart was breaking.

"Are you sure?" she asked feebly, hoping she could be fooled.

"Yes I'm sure! And guess what? Somehow, Dr Crane got a taste of his own medicine because right now, he is in the empty cell on _our ward_, and he is not himself. Pearl, he looks insane. He's _lost his mind_."

Pearl could not help it. A loud sob escaped her lips and she let the tears flow freely and in abundance. She felt so crushed and betrayed. Yes, betrayed. She believed in him. She admired him – his mind, his genius, his written word. That led her to falling in love with him. And now, he was a different person, a complete stranger, a true disappointment, and Pearl could hardly endure it.

"Pearl, are you okay?" Angela's voice was laced with worry and surprise, too.

She wiped the tears away with her free hand. "Yes, I am. I'm fine. Sorry, I don't know what came over me, Angela," she lied. "Sorry."

Then, something else hit her. A new realization, strong and clear.

What was it that Angela said?

Burlap mask. Scarecrow. Poisoning patients with a strange substance.

Pearl grew pale. No, it couldn't be...But it was. Yesterday, she had a killer in her apartment, a man whom she knew as the Scarecrow, her greatest fear. She closed her eyes and strained her brain to work. He had a burlap mask over his face, and he poisoned her with a strange substance that almost killed her. She strained her mind harder. His clothes...He wore a suit, she remembered now. His suit was...exactly like the suit that Dr Crane was wearing yesterday! And, the Scarecrow also had a briefcase with him, Dr Crane's briefcase.

_Oh, God_.

"Pearl, are you there?"

She winced, tempted to retch again. "Angela, I have to go now, I really do, but I'm coming to Arkham, okay?"

"Pearl? I'm confused."

"I have to go," she finished firmly and threw the phone handle on the cradle.

Dr Crane _was_ the Scarecrow that came into her apartment. It was he who wanted to kill her. The thought caused her much grief. And that led to another thing – he was the man who murdered her sister.

"Oh, God," she breathed.

She ran into her bedroom, buried her face into a pillow and began to scream. She did not want to alert her neighbours, but she had to scream out the shock and the agony that were overwhelming her because of the latest realization. She screamed so long and so hard that she believed her throat was beginning to bleed. And then, she cried and wailed into the pillow.

She had discovered the killer of her sister in the man that she loved. Her mind was raving and she was beginning to lose it. _Not him_! But it was him. The Scarecrow and Dr Crane were the same person.

Completely spent, Pearl rolled over on her back, feeling completely empty and frozen all of a sudden. She loved Dr Crane, but she hated the Scarecrow as much as she feared him. Now, she concentrated very hard. She poured the hatred over the fear and into the love she felt. The shock and the pain were there, but they had to be ignored. She had to hate as she had never hated before. He had tricked her, lied to her, betrayed her, and in the end, he wanted to kill her. Somehow, she survived. Perhaps he even spared her, and if he did, he did so with vile intentions, she was certain And now, the more she pondered on the matter, the more the shock was beginning to dissipate, together with the hurt and the love, and she closed her eyes. She imagined her sister, helpless and scared, and she imagined Dr Crane strangling her in Robinson Park. She created such a vivid picture in her heart that she had to scream into the pillow again – out of shock, pain, misery and absolute anger.

Dr Crane was a monster and she would die sooner that continue to love the monster. She had to do something and crying in her home would not conjure up justice for her sister.

She rolled from the bed, walked into her bathroom and washed her tear-stained pale face. Then, she stared into the mirror for so long that her face changed and became someone else's image entirely. She noticed hatred in her eyes, burning brightly, oh so brightly, and she added fuel to its fire with black thoughts about Crane. The monster, the liar, the murderer. She would eradicate him from within herself, but first, she wanted vengeance. If she still loved him afterwards, she would kill herself. But first, she needed vengeance.

And she would get it.


	13. Author's Note

Dear readers,

I am currently dealing with some personal issues in my life, that's why I haven't sent a new chapter that was due in June. However, there has been some improvement, so I assure you that you will be able to read the new update by the end of July. I already have the plan sketched out, I just need to transform it into nice prose. I am really, really sorry for the delay, but life is unpredictable, that's my only excuse. Crane is anxious to scare you again. Well, he's not so scary at the moment, poor thing, but you just wait. Pearl is plotting her revenge and I am having fun simply imagining it. I hope you'll like it as well. Please, stay tuned.

Sincerely, Lorien Urbani.

P.S. Are any of you The Joker Blogs fans? I certainly am. They posted their latest video on YouTube and Dr Crane is interviewed in it! How cool! Maybe he'll have more screen time in the upcoming videos. It's always been my dream to see Mr J and Crane side by side, engaged in action. But, professionally, mind you, not romantically. With all due respect to slash, I myself am tired of Joker/Crane slash stories, and frankly, I have never approved of it. Do you? I am curious.


	14. Chapter 12

The next chapter will describe the characters' feelings in more detail. I wanted to concentrate on the raw facts for a reason. This is a prelude to the climax.

I want to make Crane's transition from Crane to Scarecrow gradual. In the movie, it was so sudden and unrealistic. I want to focus on the workings of his mind and how he eventually decided to _be_ the Scarecrow, not just dress like him.

While writing this chapter, I had _Machine Gun_ by Portishead on repeat.

Some DC Comics characters make a cameo appearance in this chapter.

* * *

**CHAPTER 12**

He opened his eyes as something sharp pierced his skin. He thought it might have been a mosquito, for all he knew, but then a warm, tingling sensation spread through his upper arm, the piercing object retreating, and he knew someone had injected him with a medication. He looked up slowly and saw St Clair looming above him, a blurry mass. He blinked once, then remembered he was without his glasses. But it didn't matter, nothing mattered anymore. He smirked, resting the back of his head against the wall. He felt stiff, the straitjacket constricting every muscle in his body, but still, he had enough energy left to smirk at the mess he had become. Victor one day, loser the next.

"Crane?" St Clair whispered. "I gave you the anti-dote."

Crane laughed feebly. "Why would you do that?" he asked hoarsely. He did not want to be entirely sane; he did not want to be lucidly aware of himself, for he was a failure, an utter failure. Under the effects of the toxin, he at least thought his situation was funny, but by sobering up his mind, St Clair would have taken even that comfort from him.

St Clair raised his eyebrows in surprise. "We need you to be completely yourself for this. He's called me. It's happening tonight. He will need you, Crane, so don't you back out now."

St Clair knealt by his side and gripped at the straitjacket. "Crane, Sergeant Jim Gordon is on his way here to question you. You know better than to tell him anything, right?"

Crane was hardly listening to him. He was paying attention to the inner workings of his body now. He had tasted the effects of his toxin; now, he was tasting the effects of the anti-dote and they were both marvellous and terrible. His body seemed to be on fire, but the fire did not burn him. It invigorated him, sang inside him, made him feel like he could do anything, had it not been for the straitjacket. He had not felt so extraordinary, so good, so _alive_, for years, if ever. The only other moment he could compare the sensation to was the disturbing evening, not so long ago, when a certain blond girl kissed him in her apartment. He wanted to burst out of the confines of the straitjacket like a super hero. At the same time, his mind was clearing up, shaping back into its old self, and _that_ sensation he could not stand. His predicament did not feel ironic and funny anymore; it was simply dire and it made him sick, so awfully sick.

"Crane?" St Claire persisted, shaking him a little as if trying to wake him up.

"Yes," Crane hissed. "_Leave me now_," he demanded, not looking at St Clair for a second. He hated St Clair, he hated this asylum, he hated Gotham and he hated himself.

He was perfectly lucid now, mind and body, and he fully understood what had happened to him. He felt the gaping, yawning vacancy in his soul – or the lack thereof, he thought bitterly. In his previous state, he would have laughed at his mental remark, but not now. All these years he had prided himself on being the master of fear, but in truth, he had been afraid all that time. _Afraid_. _All. That. Time_. Afraid of trusting anyone ever again, afraid of getting attached, afraid of caring for anything and anyone. He was still that boy that was bullied at school, only that now, he was a boy with a good education who pretended to be scary. He thought he was uncaring, while he was simply hiding behind his mask of fear, instead of _being_ the fear.

He had been so blinded and he hated that. He hated his own stupidity, his own naivety, for he _had_ been extremely naive in believing that he had conquered his past. It was not just about the Squires sisters; it was still and foremost about himself and the cowardice he had never gotten rid of, but had simply repressed it instead. If someone had asked him right now, "Who are you, Crane?" he would not have been able to reply. As he struggled with the reply, the emptiness inside him deepened, a palpable entity that scratched at his insides like a demon cat. Because the reply was that Dr Jonathan Crane, PhD and MD, head of Arkham, was _nothing_. He had been so obsessed with becoming something else that he ended up becoming a nothing, an empty shell.

But it was time to remedy that. Something had snapped inside of him the previous night. Something had spoken in him and needed to make a new move. He _was_ the master of fear; he would only have to start _acting_ like him. And the answer had to be: Scarecrow. Crane knew and felt that only the Scarecrow could fill the void that was causing him pain. The time of politeness and self-control was over. It was time for a new era and it would have to begin on this evening, when a great metropolis would fall on his knees, and most of it was his own doing.

He smiled to himself. He already felt a little better.

* * *

Pearl didn't answer any of Angela's questions. She pretended to be perfectly fine, while inside, she was boiling. Suddenly, it was so easy to pretend. Once she had allowed hatred to consume her, she became an almost different person and it was much easier to make decisions and _do_ things.

"Why do_ I_ have to inject him with this sedative?" she heard a nurse complain. "I don't want to go anywhere near him after what he's done!"

"Then don't go," Pearl snapped and took the syringe and the small bottle with translucent liquid swimming in it.

"Nurse Jones!" the head nurse chided her, but Pearl simply glared at her.

"I see no one wants to do it, but someone has to, right? How is that cop going to handle him, hm?" Pearl demanded and everyone gaped at her, unaccustomed to such behaviour from Nurse Jones. But it was true; Sergeant Jim Gordon had been in Crane's cell for almost half an hour and Dr Strange suggested they give Crane a sedative so he would be more pliant.

"You may go, Nurse Jones," the head nurse allowed resentfully and Pearl went, gripping the syringe in her hand.

She would not give him the sedative, oh no. She smiled to herself as she imagined what she _would_ do. She would inject him with air and then, let the air bubbles take care of him. Everyone had to die, and for Crane, she had chosen gas embolism.

As she reached his cell, a police officer stopped her and touched her up like a criminal, which she resented. True, she was going to kill a man in a few minutes, but was it really a crime to kill a man like Crane? The man who murdered her sister and attempted to murder Pearl? It was a crime that she had fancied herself to be in love with him, but not anymore. The voice of her conscience reminded her that her decision was not right, but she ignored it.

She stepped into the cell and Jim Gordon rose from his chair, his face showing traces of anger and frustration. She looked at Crane, reduced to such a low state that simply did not fit a man like him, and for a second, her heart strings vibrated at the sight of him, but she tore them in her mind, string by string, until nothing was left but coldness. He looked at her and she winced as his blue eyes met hers and recognised her, but he said nothing. Was that a smirk on his face? He was a monster! Such a beautiful monster... She struggled to remember what he did to Sherry, and what he did to her the previous night.

She went to his side and pretended to fumble with the syringe. Then, as Jim Gordon looked away for a second, she raised the empty syringe, pulled in the air and began to approach his neck, lost in the sensation of finally avenging her sister, as well as herself. Her hand was shaking and she willed it to stop. Just three more inches and then – it would all be over. Crane turned his neck then, twisting it so that he could look straight into her eyes. The smirk was still plastered to his lips and as she looked at the lips, she remembered the kiss and her hand wavered.

_Focus!_ her mind screamed and she had to blink to snap out of her short trance.

"Do you really think you have it in you to do it, Pearl?" he asked her softly.

His voice startled her, but that was the moment to leap into action. She hated him now and nothing could stop her from taking a pound of his flesh in punishment, in a manner of speaking. Furiously, she squeezed the syringe and was finally ready to stab it into his neck.

* * *

"What was the plan, Crane?" Jim Gordon demanded. He was getting sick of questioning Crane. In approximately half an hour, he had gotten no response from him at all. He had tried to be the good cop; he had even tried to be the bad cop; and now, he was just a desperate and frustrated man. He kept turning the burlap mask in his hands, as if the object could oblige him with an answer.

"Scarecrow...Scarecrow..." came a reply and Gordon gritted his teeth. There they were again, right at the beginning. It felt as if Crane was mocking him.

"How were you gonna get the toxin into the air, hm, Crane?" Gordon demanded more fiercely?"

No reply. _Typical_. Gordon was at the end of his patience. He had a city to protect and the only man who knew how to do that was not cooperating well at all.

"Who were you working for, Crane?" Gordon demanded one last time. He was afraid because so much was at stake. He was mutilating the burlap mask with his hands to alleviate some of the pressure in his fingers, but nothing helped.

"Oh, it's too late," Crane finally responded, with a shaky voice. "You can't stop it now."

Gordon's heart sank at those words, but as he saw a look of despair mixed with amusement on Crane's face, he felt the urge to punch the bastard right in the face. But Crane was not worth it; he would not get suspended for treating a suspect badly.

"Sir, a nurse is here with the sedative," a police officer announced and Jim Gordon got up from the chair, sighing deeply.

"Send her in," he barked.

He stepped aside for the nurse to come into the cell and watched her as she fumbled with the syringe and the bottle of the sedative that was _supposed_ to make Crane more available. The nurse, a young woman, really, seemed to be on edge and Gordon didn't blame her. Crane had everyone on edge tonight. Sighing again, Gordon looked away for a moment, unable to stand the sight of Crane, who had been playing a less than amusing game with him for the last half hour.

"Do you really think you have it in you to do it, Pearl?"

Gordon turned around swiftly at the sound of Crane addressing the nurse. What he saw surprised him for a moment and he stood there, simply staring at the young nurse for two seconds. The syringe was empty, yet ready for use and finally, it dawned on Gordon what the woman was about to do.

"Stop!" he screamed as the needle approached Crane's neck and the nurse jumped, startled by his scream. She wanted to plunge the needle into Crane's neck fast, but Gordon was faster than her attempt. He was there in three long strides, grabbed the hand that was holding the syringe and squeezed it hard, so that the woman dropped the syringe on the floor, succumbing to the pain of his grip. She yelped and Gordon grabbed her other hand, pinning them both against her back.

"You can't do this!" she cried.

"Yes, I can," Gordon snapped and dragged the nurse out of the cell, handing her to the police officer who had let her in. "Cuff her, Norton."

"What?" she exclaimed in indignation and began to struggle, but Officer Norton had her hands cuffed in no time.

"What's your name?" Gordon demanded.

"Pearl Jones," the girl retorted, looking at him resentfully.

Gordon wiped his forehead with his fingers and looked back into the cell, only to see Crane smirking at them, and then, he closed the door of the cell angrily, focusing back on the nurse.

"Why were you trying to kill him?" he asked her and she laughed at him.

"Because he's a monster, that's why," she replied firmly, a sense of mischief sparkling in her blue gray eyes.

"Yes, well, Miss Jones, no matter what you think of him, homicide is still illegal and you just attempted to kill a man, so you're coming to the station with us."

"I didn't even _touch_ him!" she exclaimed.

Jim Gordon chuckled in disbelief. "You were about to, and it would have ended very badly. I'm charging you with assault, Miss Jones. Consider yourself under arrest."

She huffed. "Right. Arrest people who want justice and leave the trash out in the open. He killed my sister. He needs to be punished."

Her words got his attention. "What do you mean?"

The nurse swallowed a sob. She looked like a hateful banshee before, but suddenly he saw her as a crumbling little girl and he felt sorry for her. He was sorry he could not simply release her, but assault was assault, no matter how one spelled it.

"Sixteen years ago, Jonathan Crane murdered my sister, Sherry Squires, and I'm willing to bet he did away with her then boyfriend Bo Griggs as well," Pearl Jones stated gravely, tears spilling from her eyes.

"Squires?" Gordon replied. The name was so familiar. Of course! He helped investigating the crime scene then, called in by the then Detective Liebovitz.

"I remember the case. I was one of the officers investigating the crime scene. But, how can you be so sure that Crane killed your sister? The culprit was never found."

"It's my fault," she whispered and lowered her head weakly, more tears spilling down her cheeks. "The detective asked me if I'd seen anyone, anything, and I did, but I told him I didn't. I was a stupid child. My silence ruined Sherry. I saw _him_. I saw Crane, through the window...It was him I saw, and I never told anyone, and it's all my fault..."

Her shoulders were shaking with sobs and Gordon was quite at a loss for words, but at least he knew how to handle this by the book. "Well, Miss Jones, I'm going to need your statement for this. Anything related to Crane, we need to hear it. Maybe we'll open up the cold case relating to your sister's murder."

Pearl Jones sobbed and looked at him hopefully. "You will? Oh, that's wonderful," she spoke between hiccoughing sobs. "And, am...am I still under arrest?"

Gordon nodded. "Yes, you are. Come, you're coming to the station with me, now. Sedative or no sedative, Crane won't talk," he said bitterly and began to walk down the hall, Officer Norton and Pearl Jones in tow.

Gordon kept thinking, _This is a crazy city we live in_. First, the threat of Gotham falling down, followed by Crane's arrest and then this girl. Everything was spinning dangerously out of control.

As he met with Dr Jeremiah Arkham, who was currently in charge of the asylum instead of Crane, he thanked him for letting them question Crane in their asylum and also explained the little incident with the nurse, Pearl Jones, who was under arrest. Dr Arkham looked at Pearl gravely and chastised her, although he did not really mean it, and made her redundant, as such was the policy of the hospital. The hospital's staff excluded anyone with a criminal record, and as Pearl Jones was soon to have one, she had to go.

"Oh, my God, Pearl!" a woman exclaimed and Gordon and Dr Arkham turned to see a nurse hurrying towards them. As she reached them, she put her hands on Pearl Jones's shoulders and looked at her sadly.

"Pearl?"

Pearl Jones gave a crooked smile. "I'm under arrest, Angela. I'm sorry."

"But _why_?" Angela squealed and looked at Jim Gordon accusingly. "Whatever she did, it can't be that bad."

"I tried to kill Crane," Pearl answered honestly. She seemed to be strangely nonchalant and it was not the Pearl Angela knew. She was so changed and Angela did not like it one bit.

"What?" Angela cried and stared at Pearl in disbelief.

"Angela, whatever you do in your life, _never_ lie and _never_ keep secrets," Pearl demanded with tears in her eyes and Angela felt horrible because Pearl sounded as if she were saying goodbye forever. "They have led me here," Pearl concluded feebly. "And after all, he's still inside me," she concluded cryptically.

"Okay, let's go," Jim Gordon said, ending the conversation of the two nurses.

As Officer Norton jerked Pearl forward, her knees wobbled, brought down by everything that had happened, and she fainted. Her friend, the other nurse she had called Angela, gasped and hurried to her side.

"Just my luck," Gordon muttered. "What now?" he asked Dr Arkham.

"We have an empty cell just over there where she can come to," he offered and Officer Norton carried Pearl into the cell, led by the other nurse, Angela, and followed by Dr Arkham and Gordon.

"Look, I have to go to the station," Gordon said. "Officer Norton, stay here with Miss Jones and when she feels better, bring her to the station immediately, understood?"

"Yes, sir," Officer Norton replied and Gordon left, feeling more frustrated than ever before.

_Where was Batman_?

* * *

Angela demanded that Officer Norton free her friend's hands of the cuffs.

"It's brutal to have an unconscious person cuffed."

Officer Norton complied. "But as soon as she wakes up, I'm putting the cuffs back on, understood? Now, I need to take a leak." Angela looked at him with disgust obvious on her face.

"Don't you dare try to do anything foolish while I'm gone," he warned Angela. "I'll be back in a minute."

As Officer Norton left the cell, Angela called him a jerk and focused on Pearl. She slapped her cheeks gently, poking and prodding her with her fingers to force her into waking up. Soon, she began to see signs of Pearl's consciousness returning, but before she could smile in relief and contentment, something happened.

Angela had to suppress a scream when she heard the sound of several gunshots in the hallway.


	15. Chapter 13

MUSIC: I listened to two tracks while writing this chapter; _Tadarida_ from the _Batman Begins_ soundtrack (especially after 1'10'') and _The Method Works!_ from the _Perfume_ soundtrack. Both songs are available on YouTube. Especially _Tadarida_ is appropriate for this chapter, as it's really creepy, in my opinion.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Crane has changed, so my portrayal of him has changed as well. He is the Scarecrow, just remember that.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Crane, Zsazs, Mr Edward Nigma and Mr Arnold Wesker. If I did, I'd be very rich, but in constant danger, so I think I'll let DC COMICS keep them.

* * *

**CHAPTER 13**

She fainted because she was emotionally overwhelmed. Last night, she almost died. Her heart was crushed by a terrible realisation. She almost killed a man, although she could never even hurt a fly before. The man she almost killed was the same man she had fallen in love with; the same man who had claimed her sister's life unjustly. And now, she was under arrest for her failed attempt at achieving justice. There was only so much a person could take and she'd had enough. Her body shut down and in that moment, she felt blissfully weightless and pure.

Pearl woke up feeling hung-over. She groaned feebly as she opened her eyes and the room spun into her focus.

"Oh, my God," she heard a hysterical noise and she forced herself into a sitting position, noticing that she'd been placed on a gurney inside an empty cell. The hysterical voice belonged to Angela.

"You're awake!" Angela cried. "Can you stand? You have to try! We need to get out of here!"

Pearl was about to ask why, but her answer presented itself in the form of a loud gunshot and a woman's scream. Pearl's eyes widened and she found herself to be fully conscious. She jumped off the gurney.

"What's going on, Angela?"

"I don't know," Angela whimpered.

Pearl walked to the door and peered through the small window in the door. She swallowed nervously. A group of men that resembled a S.W.A.T. team was rushing the nurses and doctors down the hallways towards the fire emergency stairs and consequently, out of the building. Her hands flew to her mouth as she saw two men from the security staff lying on the ground motionless, bleeding. They were dead. And then came the biggest surprise of all. The S.W.A.T. team began to release the inmates without rushing them out of the building as they had done with the nurses and doctors. They directed some of them to the cellars. It was then that Pearl knew those men were criminals, just like most of the inmates, and that the Arkham Asylum was under a siege.

"What?" Angela quipped, shaking like a leaf in the wind.

"You're right," Pearl answered solemnly, "we have to get out. A group of men seems to have taken control over the asylum and they're releasing the inmates as we speak."

Pearl didn't want to meet with the men from the secure wing of Arkham. Just thinking about it made her shudder.

At that moment, the door pushed open and Angela screamed. A member of the false S.W.A.T. team regarded them with amusement and Pearl gulped.

"Ladies," he said smoothly, smiling like a rake. "Let's go play outside, hm?"

* * *

"Time to play."

Crane looked up at the man who said the words. He felt exhausted from being constricted for so long by means of a straitjacket. The man's companion walked to Crane and cut open the straitjacket with a knife.

"Can you cut the sleeves at my wrists, please?"

The man said nothing. He was a trained dog and he obeyed. Crane liked that. Once the man was done, Crane stood up carefully, his rigid muscles stretching painfully, but it was the sort of pain that brought relief. The straitjacket looked like a tramp's coat on him, but he did not want to take it off. He wanted the straitjacket to be a reminder of what he had lost, as well as gained, in the course of twenty-four hours.

He had faced his fears – the fear of fear itself, from which stemmed all of his smaller fears. He crushed them all, like useless, insignificant bugs, and now, he was ready to begin anew, _truly anew_. He was not just Jonathan Crane anymore. He was the Scarecrow as well. He was both men, not separately, but at the same time. He was complete because he was not afraid anymore. The burlap mask was not his shield any longer. It had become his weapon of destruction. Things were finally as they always should have been. He smiled and walked out of the cell, into the crowd of inmates trailing down the hallways. He felt like a king walking through his palace, among his subjects, only that his courtiers were madmen and fear was his sceptre.

He did not look left or right, but kept his gaze forward, slithering past the inmates. The toxin was not in the air yet, but some of the inmates splayed their backs against the walls in fear of him. They knew who he was, the Scarecrow of their nightmares, and he felt as if nothing could stop him.

Finally, he was outside in the brisk winter air and the sable sky was dotted with a myriad diamond-like stars. It was a beautiful night – perfect for destruction. He saw St Clair run to him, cradling a gas mask with his hands.

"Crane," he panted. "They will start in two minutes."

Then, he handed Crane his cell phone. "Here, take my cell. Ra's al Ghul wants you to call him."

Crane smirked. "He can handle it himself. He only has to push a button. That is not too much to do for one man, or is it?"

St Clair gaped at him in shock and Crane continued, pleased with himself. "Tonight, St Clair, I intend to spread fear _my_ way."

He flashed a smile at a confused St Clair and walked away, pulling the burlap mask over his head. Then, fear rippled in the air. It reached him first in sporadic waves and then with more momentum, spreading through the streets like an epidemic. He felt a thrilling sensation in his chest. His toxin was beginning to contaminate the air of the Narrows and then it would slowly spread its poisonous tentacles all over Gotham. It had begun. Gotham, the ugly wart of the East Coast, was crumbling to its knees and Crane felt ecstatic.

He watched in wonder as one by one, people ran past him, hysterical and screaming. When the noticed him, they screamed even more.

_They scream and they cry_, he mused contentedly.

He saw a police officer jump from his horse shrieking, probably thinking that the animal was a strange beast. The horse pranced to a stop and looked around itself in ignorance. The animal was not affected; his toxin was designed for the human race alone. Suddenly, he had a vision of a victor sitting proudly on the back of his charger, observing the chaos he had created. He _wanted _that. He felt inspired to do just that. He could not say why _exactly_, but he simply had to do it. He had a strange professor when he was specialising in psychiatry. That professor was a great supporter of therapy with animals and every intern was required to go through seven riding lessons together with abused children. Crane never considered the thought that his basic riding skills would prove to be useful to him one day. He walked over to the horse and, sensing the animal's approval, climbed on its back.

And so, he rode through the Narrows, spreading fear with great enthusiasm, feeling absolutely elated. He cornered individuals and made them scream until some of them even lost consciousness before they managed to fully lose their minds. Everything was fantastic until – Rachel Dawes. He had been threatened with a taser before, but the _bitch_ used it, on _him_. Weakened by electricity, momentarily unable to proceed with his mission, he managed to lead the horse to a deserted parking lot behind an old factory. His intention was to recover quickly and then find Rachel Dawes. He was going to make her _beg _for mercy before he was done with her. He growled in frustration and anger, but he was interrupted by a whimper and a soft voice speaking in the distance.

"It's just a horse," the first voice said, sounding completely sane.

"B-but it breathes _fire_!" the second voice retorted desperately.

"No, it doesn't. Remember, you're only hallucinating from the toxin. All the horrible things you're seeing are not really there."

He recognised the sane voice and Rachel Dawes was forgotten instantly.

"Angela, don't be scared, but I really think we should use it. You are barely able to walk as it is."

She did not see him as he was hidden behind the large horse.

"I'll protect you, I promise I will," she added and her companion agreed with a shuddering "O-o-okay."

When they were close enough, he entered their field of vision and received the desired effect. The nurse he recognised as Angela Smith shrieked in horror and tore herself away from her companion's arm. She ran to the chain-link fence at the end of the parking lot and huddle against it. Sadly, her shriek scared away the horse; the previously brave animal neighed and galloped away. But that was just as well, for now he was alone with _her_, the woman who assisted in his fall, and he would make the most of it.

"Good evening, Pearl."

* * *

Pearl and Angela were forced to leave the asylum and they certainly did not object, as one look at the men's automatic guns was more than convincing. Still, Pearl felt very uneasy as she walked down the south fire emergency stairs, preceded and followed by Arkham's inmates. All of them were from the ward where she had worked as a nurse, which seemed like such a long time ago, and most of them were harmless, but she was afraid they were going to meet the dangerous inmates, the likes of Victor Zsazs, Edward Nigma and Arnold Wesker. The truth was that she was scared. She did not know what was going on, but her gut feeling told her that she and Angela should leave the Narrows. The problem was that she didn't know if that was possible at the moment and how exactly that would be accomplished amidst such chaos.

She noticed that Angela was crying and as they reached the ground, Pearl took hold of Angela's hand, which reassured both of them.

"Okay, Angela, let's go as far away from Arkham as possible," Pearl said.

Angela looked even more scared. "And further into the Narrows? Oh, I wish I hadn't allowed my brother to take me to work today. I wish I'd come with my car."

Pearl's heart sank. She herself had come with a taxi and she had to bribe the taxi driver to take her to the asylum. She'd been hoping they could drive away in Angela's car, but that hope went down the drain.

"Well, then let's just...walk away for now."

Both of them began to walk with hurried steps, their feet agreeing that fast walking was in order. Angela kept looking over her shoulder, but Pearl preferred to not know who was walking behind them.

"Pearl, what is that fog?" Angela asked suddenly, stopping mid-stride.

"Fog?" Pearl turned around and watched with fear and confusion as a white cloud of obviously artificially created fog began to descend upon Arkham and spread lazily, but persistently. As it began to envelop people, they began to cough and then scream. Pearl's insides froze. The terrible scene was all too familiar to her. _The toxin_. Suddenly she understood the purpose of the chaos. Those men were poisoning the Narrows with Crane's toxin. Oh, God...

"Angela...run!" she screamed. "Away from the fog!"

Angela did not have to be told twice to run. She jerked into movement so fast that Pearl was struggling to keep up with her. They ran fast, followed by screams and distant gunshots. Shortly after they first saw the fog, Pearl noticed white wisps before her. They fog had caught up with them!

_No!_ She screamed inwardly. She was not going to give in. But it was too late. She saw Angela collapse to the ground in a coughing fit. It was only a matter of seconds before she would succumb as well. She stopped and hurried to Angela's side, embracing her.

"It's okay, Angela," she whispered, tears crawling down her cheeks. Angela began to scream and she scrambled to her feet, looking at Pearl as if she were a monster. Pearl was still fine and she did not know why or how she had not been affected by the toxin yet. Perhaps, Crane had given her something. She could not be sure, but she hoped it lasted.

"Get away from me, demon!" Angela screamed and began to back away.

Pearl was firm. "Angela, I am not a demon. I am Pearl Jones, your friend, but I probably look like a demon to you right now because you're hallucinating. Crane's toxin is in the air and it induces nightmares. It makes fears come to life. Do you remember how he got arrested today? Think about it."

"The t-t-toxin..." Angela whimpered.

Pearl nodded. "Now, give me your hand and remember that I am Pearl. I am Pearl, _not_ a demon. You are just hallucinating. Keep this in mind, repeat it to yourself like a mantra. Whatever horrible things you see tonight, they're _not_ real. It's the toxin, do you hear me Angela? It's the _toxin_!" she stressed.

She was glad that she was sane, but she was constantly afraid, as she did not know when the tide of fear would hit her as well.

The Narrows were a chaos. Screaming and distorted, agonized faces were everywhere. People were attacking each other, believing each other to be some strange monsters, and Pearl wished she could have a weapon with her, a stick, anything, in case she needed to defend Angela and herself.

"Close your eyes and I'll guide you, it'll be better this way," Pearl said and Angela obeyed.

Pearl had never been a heroic person, but she had to be strong tonight. She had to save herself and she had to save her friend. She veered into an empty, dark alley, ignoring the squealing rats and the debris covering the ground. The alley opened into an abandoned parking lot behind an old factory and no one was in sight at the moment, which brought her temporary relief.

And then, she saw a horse. Perfect! _Any_ means of transportation was more than welcome. She had no idea how to ride a horse, but sometimes one had to attempt to do crazy things for the sake of survival.

But the horse did not bring salvation. It brought doom and his name was Jonathan Crane.

Angela ran away and Pearl found herself standing face to face with her tormentor. He was wearing his straitjacket and his face was hidden behind the burlap sack, which made her shiver. He looked so much like the killer who tried to take her life and had succeeded in taking her sister's.

"Good evening, Pearl," he purred and she took an involuntary step back. "So," he continued, "it all ends here, then. Interesting."

Pearl took another step back and he followed with one step forward. "You tried to kill me, Pearl."

She smirked. "You tried to kill _me_ and you killed Sherry, you bastard." She was shivering. If she could only read his mind! It would be more than great to know what he was thinking right now, what his intentions were.

He sighed. "True. Fair enough, eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. Very Biblical and poignant. I find that I like this."

_She_ did not like it and she hated that mask. It meant too much to her, in a negative sense.

"Then make it fair, Crane, and take off the mask, please," she asked, trying to sound as firm and as brave as was possible, given the circumstances. He chuckled and she didn't like the sound of his chuckle. It was absolutely sinister.

"I have to deny your request, Pearl, unless you tell me _why_ exactly I should oblige you."

The bastard was teasing her. He _knew_ why. She refused to react to his taunting remark. Instead, she taunted him back. She had changed a little over the night and he would have to get used to that.

"It seems to me, Dr Crane, that you are afraid of exposing your nose to the toxin. You're hiding behind the filthy burlap sack, you _coward_, while the city's falling apart. Yes, that's right. _You_, Jonathan Crane," she concluded confidently, "are a _coward_."

She knew she was pushing his limits, but as much as she wanted to live, she also felt that she had nothing to lose. He had broken all of her limits. She wanted to fight him and make him bleed for the crimes he had committed against her family. She braced herself for his anger, for it would surely burst out of him, but instead he chuckled again.

"Is that right?" he asked. "Because _I_ thought that _you_ were afraid of _me_, Pearl. Don't I remind you of someone with this mask over my head, hm?"

She winced ever so slightly because of his implication, but he noticed the feeble movement.

"Yes, I see. I am your greatest fear. You proved that to me last night, Pearl. It must be..._scary_ to have your sister's killer standing before you, talking to you," he took an impromptu step forward and touched her cheek with his fingers before she could blink, "touching you."

She slapped his hand away with disgust and growled, "Don't you dare touch me!"

If only there was a way to incapacitate him, but so far it hadn't presented itself yet. _Damn_. She wished she had a syringe on her, or a pencil, _anything_ to stab him with and make _him_ scream and suffer for a change.

He tsk-ed. "And to think," he spoke with mock bitterness, »that you actually _kissed_ me. Such a disgrace."

His words hit her like a wipe across her face. She blushed hard in shame and anger. Was he really going to bring _that_ up? Bastard!

"What would your sister say if she knew that you liked...me?"

That was it. She didn't care to be careful anymore because she was far beyond the state of being merely pissed off. She was exploding with fury and, with her fingers curled into stiff fists, she jumped at him and aimed to land a punch on his face, but she tripped awkwardly and ended up hitting his chest instead, eliciting a _hmpf_ from his throat. He staggered momentarily and she pushed herself from his chest to pull that insulting mask off his damn face, but he gripped her wrists with the painful strength of a snake coiling around them and she realised that he was much stronger than he looked. No matter, she could wriggle, kick and bite if necessary, so she wriggled hard to free herself and she even attempted to kick him _right there_, but he quickly and deftly swirled her around and her back collided with his chest, this time eliciting a _hmpf_ from her throat. She grunted in frustration, but she was not afraid of him, not anymore. She grew still on purpose, to let him believe that she was giving up, so he would loosen the grip he had on her.

"Scared?" he whispered into her ear, making her skin tingle, which frustrated her even more.

"No," she spat through gritted teeth.

"You should be," he replied.

He gripped her right upper arm just above the elbow and squeezed hard, the pain travelling to her still hurt and sore shoulder she dislocated last night and that _he_ re-aligned. She remained silent and still, but what he did next surprised her and it happened so fast that she could not defend herself. He put his left hand on her right shoulder with strange, suspicious precision, but before she finally realised what he was about to do, his right hand pulled hard on her right arm with a backward motion, while his left hand pressed her shoulder forward with violent force. She couldn't contain herself; she screamed out as her sore shoulder was dislocated once more and she fell on her knees, gripping at her right arm. She saw Angela whimpering by the chain-link fence. Angela would not help her; she was lost to the world right now. Pearl was struggling to contain the tears of pain and despair.

Crane stepped in front of her, his tall frame looming above her own pitiful, crushed body. She could kill for a Vicodin and maybe she would just have to, she thought with dark amusement. He crouched down in front of her and she looked up.

"That was a dirty move," she said simply, swallowing down a weak tone of pain.

"I never claimed to be a fair player," he replied softly.

Pearl smirked. She would show him that she was still not afraid. "You know, with that mask of yours, Mr _Scarecrow_," she spoke mockingly, "you look like an old straw puppet that is ready to be tossed into the trash can."

He laughed. "What a vivid imagination you have, Pearl. Well," he breathed out the word, "I prefer to think that right now, you are a tattered puppet or rather a broken porcelain doll that I intend to play with for a little while. But when I have to move on, and that will be quite soon, I will cut your strings and watch your fall. How does that sound?"

Pearl shuddered inwardly because of his cold threat, but on the outside she conjured up a grin.

"Just peachy!" She sighed. "And all the while, you'll be hiding behind this ugly old burlap sack, I suppose."

"I'm not hiding. I'm actually flaunting my true colours," he explained and stood up.

"I want to see your face when I face you, Crane. I have a problem with _you_, so I want to see _you_," she demanded angrily.

"If it makes you feel better," he said and pulled her up by both of her arms, adding fuel to the fire of pain burning in her shoulder.

Pearl whimpered as silently as she could. Then, she watched in wonder as Crane pulled off the mask and breathed in deeply, as if they'd been surrounded by fresh mountain air. Pearl was thrilled. The bastard did it! He exposed himself to the toxin. He obviously had a death wish, but she wouldn't complain. But nothing happened, nothing at all, and she knew that his strange calm should make her feel suspicious and very wary of him. She did not like the calm.

"You see, Pearl," he spoke, his eyes meeting hers, "the dose of the toxin that's in the air right now is not lethal. It burns a little and it makes you go a bit crazy, but the big thing is due in twenty minutes. We just wanted to have some fun first, watching people killing each other, prompted by their crazy hallucinations."

Pearl regarded him with disbelief. How could he be so cold, so mean, so uncaring? But what really bothered her was Crane's behaviour. He took off the mask, but he was fine. Something was not right.

"You are not affected by the toxin at all," she accused him. "You took something to protect yourself, didn't you?"

He smiled. "No, I didn't and that is the best part. I'm the same with or without the toxin in my system. I _have_ been on the other side of sanity, but I returned without really leaving all of the _in_sanity behind. I like it. I feel less," he breathed in the contaminated air again, "_constrained_. I can simply tread on everyone's lives freely because I just don't _care_. I can sin with impunity and consequences don't worry me anymore as they used to. What a waste of time that was! "

Now, Pearl _was_ afraid.

"Why am _I_ not affected?" she asked nervously.

He snapped out of the reverie of his monologue and regarded her coldly. The ice of his blue orbs chilled Pearl to the core. He was sane as well as crazy and he hated her, she knew, for he had tried to kill her. He had the look of a killer in his eyes and the aura of a dangerous predator surrounding him. In that moment, she both hated and feared him. He definitely had the upper hand, which was a disconcerting truth.

"Because I made a terrible mistake," he replied with venom in his voice, "which I intend to remedy tonight.

Pearl was horrified. She could picture him with the face of the Scarecrow, sitting on her thighs to keep her pinned to the ground, while he was strangling her, just like he did with Sherry. She swallowed hard, hoping for a miracle. With her injured shoulder, she was much weaker that she would have liked to be. She looked across his shoulder to the helpless Angela and then slightly more to the left, a tear sliding down her cheek. Then she saw it. How could she have missed it before? There it was, just a few feet to the left of Angela, a _gun_. A gun that someone lost or dropped for a reason unknown to her. It may not have even been loaded, but the gun was her only chance.

Suddenly, she felt how much she wanted live. All her life, she had been a shadow and a people-pleaser. She depended on Sherry as a child. She had felt guilty for sixteen long years. She married Dom to do him a favour. She became a nurse to be needed, and she wanted to become a psychiatrist for the same sick reason. She never put herself in the forefront, but that was not healthy. She'd been burdened with guilt and the saviour's complex, its consequence, for years. She didn't help Sherry by telling the truth, so she helped everyone else to receive her atonement. In the end, she fell so low that she fell in love with Crane.

Now, she finally wanted to live the way _she_ wanted to and Crane would _not_ take that away from her.

She wanted to live, and she had to distract him to achieve her goal. She saw him move and noticed that he was in the process of pulling the mask over his head. _No, you won't_, she snarled inwardly.

She put her hand on his gently and squeezed it, then said, "I want to say a proper goodbye to you before you do this to me."

_I want to say goodbye to the man I thought you were, to the monster that you are, and with that I want to eradicate you from my life_.

Happily, she noted that she did not love him anymore. His blue eyes were still mesmerising, but hell was turquoise and she felt nothing but contempt now. She was cured of him, of her own madness.

He eyed her warily. "Are you not going to fight me, Pearl?"

"No," she replied softly, "I am tired, Jonathan, so tired. I saw Sherry yesterday. She came to take me with her. And I find...I find that I want to go with her..."

What she said sickened her and the tear she shed came from her in disgust, but to him, it might have looked as something else. He seemed to consider her words briefly and was pleased with them. He believed her! There was a God.

"Alright, then. What do you want? But take care, it'll be your last wish."

"I would like to kiss you goodbye, Jonathan," she said and before he could respond, she kissed him, as she did yesterday.

This time it felt different. The kiss did not stir her emotions. She was ice, her only desire to survive, no matter the price she had to pay. Life was priceless, anyway. She paid attention to his body and when his lips moved against hers, she knew she had succeeded. Crane was not in full control. Whatever he was, he was still a man and she was a woman, compatible to his needs. Perhaps he did like her a little since this time, he did not run away from her; he kissed her back.

Just a man, nothing more. She was not afraid. He had no effect on her. She would live.

The kiss had lasted long enough; she counted: twelve seconds. She had sacrificed enough. Remembering that he was just a man in every sense of the word, she shot up her right knee very hard, with absolutely wicked pleasure, and the movement had the desired effect. The man growled in pain and staggered backwards, then bent forward, trying to catch his breath. She did not stay there to watch him struggle. She ran. He screamed after her, but she ran as fast as she could, her injured shoulder encumbering her, but she ran.

She was surprised to hear him running after her. Damn, she should have kicked harder! The sound of his panting approaching her made her blood run cold. She was almost there. She threw herself on the ground, grabbed the gun with her good hand and turned on her back. She cocked the gun and aimed it at him. It _was_ loaded.

He stopped just a pace away from her, looking at her in disbelief. His eyes tried to disarm her; two orbs of turquoise hell. Pearl swallowed hard. Her index finger was resting on the trigger. Her mind was in turmoil and her hand was shaking. Believing that she could not do it – and she really felt that she could not – he lunged at her.

Pearl closed her eyes and the gun sang with a deafening bang.


	16. Chapter 14

AUTHOR'S NOTE: What is cardiac tamponade? (It appears in the chapter.) Fluid accumulated in the sac in which your heart is enclosed, which elevates the pressure on the heart and prevents the heart's ventricles from filling properly. Consequence: cardiac arrest. The fluid has to be removed surgically. However, I am not a doctor, so don't sue me if I didn't explain it perfectly.

* * *

**CHAPTER 14**

**/ \**

She kissed him, again.

And he responded, _again_.

Yet this time, he was not disgusted. The old him would have been, but the new him, the _real_ him, was not.

Perhaps he did like her a little, after all. He wanted to say goodbye to her as well. Unfortunately, he would still have to kill her, but this time there was only one reason for it: she simply knew too much and had to be silenced. It was not that he hated her, because he did not anymore. It was not that he refused to give himself a chance to be with a woman like her, because he did not. She was simply a liability and that said, he did not like her _too_ much. That made everything easier.

He surrendered to her lips for a moment, ignoring the alarm bells ringing in his head. For the truth was, although he was who he was, he was still made of flesh and he finally did enjoy the feel of a woman against his skin.

Pearl, the broken doll. She was beautiful precisely because she was so broken, so damaged, and it was quite wonderful that he was the assistant in, if not the instigator of her ruin. He would not have her any other way. She was perfect as she was.

Perhaps...Perhaps he did not have to _kill_ her. Perhaps, he could just break her and tame her. It was possible. After tonight, anything was possible.

And then, she showed a different side of her, the side that could bite and betray.

They were _all_ the same.

He received a shock of sickening pain in his groin and that simply pissed. Him. _Off_. She shouldn't have done that. Now he would have to kill her and make her demise slow and painful.

But the little bird had flown from her cage when he was not paying attention. She was ready to tread on him, just as he'd been treading on her.

She closed her eyes and released doom from her fragile-looking hands. He did not believe she could do it until he felt the bullet pierce his skin first, then his flesh, settling in his right shoulder, or was it lower and more to the left?

Defeated by his own stupidity. Defeated by a broken porcelain doll.

Was he lying on the ground or floating in the air? The sensation was so strange and ethereal. Bizarrely enough, he felt peace and release. He was beginning to feel cold; shock and loss of blood. But he was not alarmed, as he should have been. There were only peace and release.

And then – darkness.

* * *

Pearl lost all sense of time and space. As she pulled the trigger and the bang of the bullet echoed in her ears loudly, jerking her back against the ground, everything changed. She was not the same person anymore. She shot a man, to defend herself, and also to avenge her sister, but vengeance brought no relief. It gifted her with confusion and emptiness.

She _shot_ a man.

She watched as the bullet pierced his chest, just below his right shoulder, and a crimson rose formed on his clothes immediately. But she knew that was no rose; it was blood and she invited it out of his body. She gasped as his tall frame crumbled and spilled over the ground, falling like a shot bird, but she could not scream.

She remained on the ground, gun in hand, staring at his still body. He looked as if were only sleeping, but the spreading stain on his straitjacket refused that theory. It seemed like hours as she was staring at him, but only a few minutes had passed.

"No," she whispered suddenly. "I'm not doing you a favour," she said louder.

She did not want him to die. She wanted him to live and answer for his crimes. She wanted him to go to jail, or better still, to Arkham, as a patient. He surely deserved that. By dying, he would escape all punishment and she could just not allow that, she would not.

"No favours," she said again and scrambled to his body on all fours, keeping the gun with her – just in case. There were many raving people out there, after all.

She pressed her ear against the left side of his chest and noted with relief that his heart was beating, although not as strongly as she would have wanted it to. He was breathing, too, which was a good sign. He was unconscious, however, which was not so good. First, she had to find a way to control the bleeding. She tore the straitjacket apart, then his shirt and exposed his chest to her. She had seen gunshot wounds before and had treated many of them, but knowing that she caused that mess almost made her gag. Still, she proceeded. She tore away a piece of his shirt, rolled it into a ball and shoved it into the wound to control the bleeding and to keep air from being sucked into the wound. She wanted to avoid the development of a collapsed lung. The bastard had to live. She dared not pry the bullet out of the wound, as it might have made the wound bleed stronger. Then, she placed him into the recovery position and wiped her bloody hands against the straitjacket. If he died, she would never be able to clean her hands properly. Invisible traces of blood would always remain.

Still, Pearl was surprised at how sober she suddenly felt. She was in complete control of herself and of her surroundings. She checked his heartbeat and breathing again and, satisfied that he was still alive, went to check on Angela, the poor woman still sobbing and shivering by the chain-link fence.

"Y-you shot a monster," Angela whimpered, half relieved, half terrified. At least, she recognised Pearl as a friend and not as a mutant mythological beast.

"That I did," Pearl answered and wried a smile. "Actually, Angela, that is just a man and I need your help. Do you think you could help me keep him stable? I did what I could, but I'm afraid he might collapse into shock."

Angela shook her head frantically. "N-no, I can't. Not in my state. I...I'm seeing th-things and you tell me they're not, not real, but they _seem_ real."

"It might keep your mind off these terrible hallucinations," Pearl persisted and without waiting for an answer, hoisted Angela to her feet, surprising her friend completely.

Angela seemed to sober up for a moment, although her face began to show signs of paranoia again. Pearl led her by the hand to Crane's lifeless body. She knelt by his side fast to check on his vitals. He seemed to be stable, but Pearl was afraid he was bound to fall into shock eventually. The piece of shirt she had shoved into the wound had to be replaced. Trembling severely, Angela fell to her knees.

"Oh my God," she whispered, then closed her eyes, swallowing hard. "Not real..." she said to herself, then opened her eyes again and tore another piece of Crane's shirt without Pearl's prompting. She took the old blood-sodden piece of fabric out of the wound and forced the new one inside.

"Good job," Pearl said and squeezed her friend's shoulder.

"Now what?" Angela asked weakly, tears trickling down her face.

Pearl sighed miserably. "We wait. In this chaos, we can only wait. We won't get an ambulance here."

And so they waited, trying to keep Crane alive. At one point, they had to perform CPR on him and they brought him back to life, but he fell into shock and Pearl lost hope. Then, Angela fell into shock, too; the toxin in the air was killing her and Pearl, immune to the toxin, felt completely devastated and alone. She was sitting between the seemingly lifeless bodies of her friend and her nemesis, knowing that she could not hope for help. Then, she began to feel a bit sick as well. She was exempt from hallucinations, but her body was still exposed to the contaminated air, she realised. She began to feel the first signs of shock coming to consume her as well.

All hope was gone. It was dead, as all of them would soon be.

So, she lay on her back as well and closed her eyes, nestled between Angela and Crane, feeling strangely safe and complacent. She lost all sense of time and space again and this time, she remained lost.

* * *

Everything that followed was a blur.

Men whose faces she could not discern in the darkness. Voices buzzing around her. Someone checking her pulse and covering her face with an oxygen mask. She managed to lift her eyelids briefly, but she saw nothing, so she closed them again.

She felt herself being hoisted upwards and she wandered whether she was being transported into the world of the afterlife. She could see Sherry in her mind, waving at her, inviting her to follow, but as much as Pearl was glad to see her sister, she was not yet ready to depart from the world of the living. But the sensation of being lifted into the sky continued and she knew that she had no choice.

"Hi, Sherry," she said and took her sister's hand.

* * *

Pearl awoke to a beeping sound echoing from her right. Uncertain of where she was, as her mind was a complete blur and the beeping sound did not help her to concentrate in the slightest, she carefully pried her eyes open with the few shreds of will she could feel pumping through her. Her eyes closed on their own before she could fully lift the eyelids, but she was stubborn. She wanted to see where she was and chase the confusion out of her head. She tried again, willing her eyelids to rise and eventually, she fluttered her eyes open.

Everything around her was starch white. She took a deep breath and winced. Her chest protested in pain and her nose tingled. She lifted her right arm with an effort and touched her nose. She felt two thin tubes emerging from her nose and she guessed that it was a nasal cannula. She remembered; she must have been in a hospital. Her body felt stiff and when she tried to move only a little, she was greeted by pain. She sighed and groaned in frustration of being unable to move and take a look at the room she was in properly.

Then, another feeling washed over her. She was still alive! Pearl had never been so happy in her entire life.

She looked to her left and right, then, and saw the she was not alone in the room. The long and wide hospital room was filled with patients lying on gurneys. Pearl guessed that they must have all been here because of the toxin.

"Hello, Pearl," a doctor greeted her cheerily. "I am Dr Elizabeth Murphy. And this is Sergeant Jim Gordon. It is good to see you awake," she added and took Pearl's chart from the container at the foot of the bed. Pearl swallowed down the discomfort as she saw Jim Gordon hovering at the end of her gurney. If he was there, it could only mean bad news.

"Good morning, Miss Jones," he said softly and she managed a feeble smile. He had not forgotten about the arrest, then. She was still under arrest, it seemed.

The doctor looked at the machinery Pearl was attached to and wrote something on the chart, then put it back in the container. Meanwhile, a nurse was making herself busy with the IV stand, replacing the almost empty IV bags with new ones and inserting a medicine with a syringe into the IV catheter.

"I am happy to say that you are quite alright, now," the doctor continued, "just very dehydrated. You were in a shock, but you are a fighter, Miss Jones. You will be discharged in two days' time."

"What happened?" Pearl asked, frowning. "The Narrows..."

Sergeant Gordon answered her question. "Oh. The city is saved. Batman saved us. He also provided us with the anti-dote."

"Thank God!" the doctor exclaimed.

"Do you know if my friend is okay? Angela Smith? She was with me." Pearl was incredibly worried.

"Oh, I forgot!" the doctor chirped and slapped herself on her forehead slightly. "This is the woman that asked me about you early in the morning, yes, Angela Smith. She was in very bad shape when she was admitted to the hospital. You are in Gotham General, by the way. Anyway, yes, she had a heart attack, because of the toxin, but she is stable now. She will be discharged in a week's time. She is a fighter, too."

"Thank God," Pearl sighed. "And...and Dr Jonathan Crane?"

The doctor's face darkened and her jaw grew stiff. "He is in a separate room, under police custody. If you will excuse me, now, I have to see other patients. Sergeant, please do not wear out Miss Jones."

"I won't," Gordon promised and sat down on a chair by the gurney.

"He is alive, then?" she asked, trying to sound blank.

Gordon nodded. "He barely survived, but yes, he is alive. He had a cardiac arrest in the hospital, due to a...a cardiac tamponade, is that the correct term?"

Pearl nodded and he continued. "He also lost a lot of blood. They kept him in a hyperbaric chamber for twenty-four hours and yesterday, he was transferred to a separate room. He is under arrest."

Pearl lowered her gaze. "Am _I_ still under arrest?"

"It depends," he said and Pearl looked up.

"Depends on what, Sergeant?"

"You have to be completely honest with me now, Miss Jones. I know that you shot Dr Crane. You probably don't remember this, but you mumbled about it to the nurses and lab tests have already confirmed that you had traces of gunpowder on your hands. Also, your fingerprints are all over that gun. So tell me, where did you get the gun and why did you shoot Dr Crane?"

Pearl heaved a deep sigh. "I promise that I will tell you the truth, and nothing but the truth," she spoke solemnly, remembering the famous words from several TV shows about lawyers. "The gun is not mine."

"That's right," Jim Gordon confirmed. "We found the owner."

"I actually found it on the ground. I don't know what it was doing there, but I don't care. It was a miracle and it saved me. You may not believe me, especially after my trying to kill Crane with a syringe, but I shot him in self-defence. He attempted to kill me."

"It is true, then," Gordon said and Pearl frowned. "You see, your friend, Angela Smith, told us the same thing, but as she was under the effects of the toxin, she is not a reliable witness. Now tell me, what exactly is going on between you and Crane?"

"How much time do you have?" Pearl chuckled nervously.

"I'll take time," Gordon replied.

And so, Pearl told him the whole story, how she started to work at Arkham, confessing even how she fell in love with Crane and how, not even two days ago, everything collapsed. She told him everything about Sherry, about her guilt, and that she was absolutely certain Crane killed her sister all those years ago. He tried to kill Pearl, too, not only once, but twice. He even confessed as much to her but, of course, she could not prove that he made the confession.

"I already spoke to Detective Jacobs, who was in charge of the case of your sister's murder," Sergeant Gordon explained.

_Jacobs..._Yes, Pearl remembered him.

"I only told him the basics, and my suspicions, but he is willing to re-open the case. Of course, he will question you."

Pearl closed her eyes and allowed tears to trickle down her cheeks from under her eyelids.

"Thank you, "she whispered.

Then, she asked, "Do I have to go to the MCU with you?"

"No. Detective Jacobs will wait until you are stable enough to come to his office."

Pearl frowned. "No, I mean, because of my assault on Crane..."

Gordon sighed. "You know what, Miss Jones? We have survived a crazy night, but luckily, one of the men responsible for it survived and he will be tried, for assisting a terrorist and hopefully, for killing your sister. I wonder, what would _I_ do in your case? I would probably lose it a little, too. So, let's forget about your arrest if you promise to stay away from Crane in the future."

Pearl did not care about the tubes attached to her body. She sat up in bed and embraced a very surprised Gordon.

"Thank you," she said again.

Finally, justice would be served. Finally, she would be able to make amends to Sherry.

* * *

The next day, Pearl was almost completely fine and she was discharged from the hospital. She only had to rest and not exert herself for a few days. She went to see Angela immediately. Angel would have to stay in the hospital for a few more days.

"Thank you, Pearl, for everything you did for the when I was not myself," Angela said with teary eyes.

"You would have done the same thing for me," Pearl answered and smiled warmly. "When will they discharge you?"

"They'll keep me in for three more days. I'm just glad this nightmare is finally over. I can't believe it ever happened. All I know is that I am not returning to Arkham, no way."

Pearl sighed. "What will you do?"

Angela smiled a little. "You know, I don't know yet. I just want to live a happy life, that's all. You?"

Pearl returned the smile. "Me too. I will probably leave Gotham after the trial."

Angela frowned. "Trial?"

"Yes, the trial for Crane and other accomplices of those terrorists. I'll testify, against Crane."

Angela's jaw dropped. "No way! You have to tell me everything!"

Pearl thought about it for a moment, and then she decided to confess everything to Angela. Angela was her best friend now and she was a person she wanted to keep in her life, so Pearl told her history to Angela.

The honesty confirmed their bond of friendship. And by speaking about her past, Pearl finally felt _free_.


	17. Chapter 15

The last chapter. Wow.

A reviewer kindly reminded that I should not point out reviewers at the end of the final chapter, as new reviewers might drop by and could feel slighted. (I hope this story meets new readers, and vice versa!) I agree. **I want to thank you all, from the bottom of my Cranezy heart, for reading this story, for all your amazing reviews and support. You know who you are. You made this journey so much better than it would have been otherwise. **I will thank you all individually via PMs, but really, a shout out to all of my amazing readers and reviewers, past and future. If I could, I would give you muffins, but we all live too far apart.

Thank you for journeying through this story with me!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The ending is a bit open, as you will see. This story** will not have a sequel**, but I hope it will get to haunt you for just a little while longer as it is now...

**Again, many, many thanks!**

DISCLAIMER: Crane would like to point out on this occasion that the Gotham police will NEVER EVER own him. Hopefully. He would also like to express his gratitude for your following his crazy, uh, shenanigans? Oh, Crane, I wouldn't put it like that...

* * *

**CHAPTER 15**

**/ \**

The City of Gotham was in a state of recovery after it had been dealt a terrible blow and pushed into a state of shock and fear. But as much as the city had suffered in the course of one hellish night, it would survive. Gotham always survived, only its inhabitants were vulnerable; but the city itself – never. It was rotting from the inside, but it still stood, especially now that it had a saviour in the form of a large, terrifying bat.

It was the same man, the Batman, who defeated an ancient enemy. Of course, the city would never know the full story of one man's desire to purify it by crushing it into dust. The people of Gotham believed that a terrorist simply did what terrorist usually did best: he destroyed. To them, the unknown leading terrorist was important one day and soon became insignificant when a new tomorrow came. They would never know the truth about the League of Shadows and how close they actually came to complete destruction.

Batman defeated the league, but he did not destroy it. He knew those things were much beyond him, and as long as the city was safe, the league could move on to other ideals. He left them unexposed; he did his job. Gotham was still breathing.

Gotham would survive. That city always did.

* * *

Pearl exited Detective Jacobs' car nervously. She had met with him several times now, revealing to him all of her memories connected to the night when her sister was taken away from her by the very man she fancied herself to be in love with for a little while. She had been bound by the past for many years, but with every revelation, with every word she said to Detective Jacobs, the ropes that had been keeping her in the same miserable state of mind, bruising her, causing her so much pain and grief, snapped, one by one. The cold case of Sherry Squires' murder was re-opened and only two more ropes remained. Pearl was ready to cut the first one now. The very thought of doing it frightened her, but she wanted to finally put that behind her.

She followed Detective Jacobs into Robinson Park, trying to imagine how her sister must have felt when she followed Jonathan Crane down the same beautifully tended path. The place was really beautiful, which, to Pearl, was an almost grotesque notion. The lovely park was a place of murder; the makeshift Eden amidst the rotting corpse of Gotham presented Hell to Sherry Squires sixteen years ago.

Detective Jacobs veered off the path and walked over the grass, the frozen ground crunching beneath his feet. Pearl swallowed hard as she followed him; she could feel they were close now. Soon, the detective halted his step and pointed to a random spot beneath a bare birch tree.

"It happened here," he told her solemnly and Pearl fixed her gaze on the patch of ground he had pointed at, trembling.

She walked to the spot with shaky legs and knelt down slowly. She splayed her bare palms across the cold ground and closed her eyes, trying to imagine and then, to let go and forget. She gasped as images of Sherry came to her mind, images of how Sherry might have been on that night, during that very moment... And then, Crane's face slid through her mind and she jarred her teeth, willing herself not to scream.

"_If everything turns out okay tonight, Pea, I will introduce you to my boyfriend very soon,"_ Sherry's voice from the past echoed in her thoughts, the memory of her last moment with Sherry seeping into her brain and unfolding like the petals of a bitter sweet flower.

"_But I already know Bo!" the little sister chirped back, pouting. She did not like Bo by far. Every time he came by the house, he would greet her with a "Hey, Bratsky," or "Hi, Midgette," which she really disliked. He thought he was being cool, but she disliked him._

"_No, no, I broke up with Bo and he's not coming back," Sherry explained, which made her little Pea beam a smile at her._

"_Who is your new boyfriend, Sherry?"_

_Sherry sighed rather dreamily. "He is...beautiful. He accepts me. He doesn't see me as a piece of meat the way Bo did. He is misunderstood at school, you know. They call him Ichabod, sometimes, because he's a bit gangly. But he has such amazing blue eyes, Pea." Sherry sighed again, but then she grew sad. "He is angry with me now, but I will explain everything to him tonight and I'm sure he'll understand. We...like each other."_

_Little Pea shook her head. "I am a little confused."_

_Sherry chuckled. "You'll know it all soon enough. For now, it's enough you know that I'm in love with this boy."_

_At that moment, a pebble hit the sash window in their room and it was Sherry's new boyfriend, the blue-eyed gangly Ichabod, as far as Pea remembered. Sherry dashed out of their room and as she did, Pea took a quick peek of the new boy and gasped as she saw that there was a scarecrow standing in their garden. It was Halloween, but he looked so real. She thought of the new word she had learned from a book that day and put it to use: a genuine scarecrow._

_Little Pea fluffed after her big sister to tell her that she did not feel so comfortable about Sherry going out with a scarecrow boy, but Sherry did not listen. Her thoughts were entirely dedicated to the boy. Little Pea sighed and decided that Sherry probably knew best. She waived at Sherry in her Dorothy costume and even at the scarecrow boy, but she was invisible to them. She only hoped that her sister would come back from Oz soon._

The memory evaporated. Tears were crawling from underneath Pearl's eyelids, leaving a stinging trail down her cheeks as the liquid pearls met with the cold winter air.

"She loved you, you bastard," she whispered grudgingly. "You just have to destroy everything you touch, don't you, blue-eyed Ichabod?"

She scoffed and wiped away the tears. She could finally imagine what her sister must have suffered on that night. He did not accept Sherry, as her sister had believed. She shook at the knowledge of everything. Detective Jacobs had described the possible way of how the murder happened. She had been dreading to go anywhere near Robinson Park for sixteen years. But now, she was finally here and as much as remembering and imagining things was horrible, it also felt good, if not quite cathartic. She finally faced her past and her fears, and she could feel the weight leaving her soul. Liberation was blissful.

"Are you alright?" Detective Jacobs asked with concern and she got up.

"I will be now, detective," she said, smiling a little. "Thank you for taking me here. I needed to visit this place to finally move on."

The detective nodded and they went back to his car. That rope snapped.

Only one rope remained: she would soon be invited to testify against Crane.

* * *

A month had passed and Pearl had been busy arranging everything for her new life. She was returning to Sacramento, as there was nothing left for her in Gotham. The city was where she was born and raised, but home was in Sacramento, with her friends and with her in-laws who were like a family to her. She only forgot that she had a great life in Sacramento and noW she finally remembered. Sacramento was made of colours; Gotham only knew shades of gray.

She also changed her last name back to Squires. She married Dom to make him happy before he died, but she was not a real widow, so she was not obliged to bear the name of Jones any longer. She had been a Jones until now because the last name Squires had been painful. Now she was proud to be Pearl Squires once more.

She could leave Gotham once she had testified against Crane, who had been charged with several crimes: workplace violence, aggravated assault, co-operation with a terrorist, attempted (mass) murder, homicide (his toxin, sadly, claimed many victims on that black night for Gotham) and suspicion of attempted murder of Sherry Squires and Bo Griggs. Pearl was happy to know that Crane was facing a long future spent in Blackgate Penitentiary, or perhaps even in the Arkham Asylum, amongst the criminally insane he had been torturing for so long. Both Blackgate and Arkham would suit his black soul just fine. She expected to have some remnants of feelings for him, but there were none; just complete indifference and the satisfaction that justice would be served. She was not haunted by anything or anyone anymore. She was absolutely free.

She was full of energy. She already bought a nice little apartment in Sacramento. She would not pursue a career in psychiatry. After all that had happened, anything to do with psychiatry was not on her wish-list. She did want to be a nurse anymore, either. She would give herself time to find her true self, or rather to re-discover the girl she had pushed away. She also arranged and paid for her sister-in-law's – Jessica's – rehabilitation at a strict, but very efficient clinic in Canada. She wanted to spend her inheritance money left to her by Dom for something good and now was the time to do it. Pearl was even sporting the idea of buying herself an exotic pet in Sacramento – a tarantula. Suddenly, spiders did not seem so scary anymore.

She was not dreading the trial; she was actually looking forward to it. The associates of the unknown terrorist were never found, so Crane was left alone. Revenge was sweet and so was justice. Well, Crane would not be entirely alone in the courtroom. The police had also apprehended Dr St Clair, who was Crane's accomplice in crime. Rachel Dawes, ADA, would certainly be merciless in the courtroom, as she did not particularly appreciate Crane's attempt to murder her with his toxin. That made Pearl very hopeful.

The day of the beginning of the trial finally came and it was quite a spectacle for Gotham. Pearl was informed that she was due to testify in three days' time. The moment had come and Pearl smiled. She would certainly make the most of it.

One day before the trial, however, she received a call that changed everything and the blow was delivered by Rachel Dawes over the phone.

"I'm afraid corruption won, Miss Squires," Miss Dawes said gloomily. "Crane has managed to escape from custody and Detective Jacobs is already on his way to your apartment, together with two police officers. Erm, Miss Squires, are you there?"

Pearl could not determine whether that was the truth or just a prank call. But she feared that it was the truth.

"He...escaped?" she repeated silently. She was glad she was already sitting, otherwise she would have crumbled to the ground easily.

"Yes, he escaped. I can assure you that we are going to do everything to find him, but until we do, I'd prefer if you moved to a safe place under police supervision, or accept to be guarded in your apartment, as I understand that Dr Crane holds a few grudges against you."

Pearl stared into the wall, stunned. Her hopes for a new, free life were falling apart like a badly assembled house of cards. It seemed that Crane, after all, had the final word. He was the one who could free her or bind her. He certainly was clever and he knew how to cause torment even from afar.

Pearl wanted to cry, but she couldn't. She was frozen inside, so very frozen. She felt absolutely pitiful.

She lost.

She fucking _lost_.

She felt haunted again, haunted by Crane and the never-ending uncertainty. Life was still unfair, infuriatingly _unfair_.

Pearl took a quivering breath and spoke into the phone.

"Miss Dawes?"

"Yes?"

Pearl exhaled. "I just want to go home."

* * *

Pearl could leave Gotham for Sacramento, but she would be obliged to return as soon as Crane had been apprehended again, to testify against him at last. She didn't care what happened now; she just wanted him out of her life, for good. She would be escorted to the airport by a police officer and a member of the Sacramento PD would be waiting for her in Sacramento to take her to the house of her in-laws. Miss Dawes insisted that Pearl abandon the idea of living on her own for the time being and Pearl agreed willingly; she really did not want to be alone now.

Pearl felt like a robot. She did not allow herself to think and feel; she only obeyed the people who wanted to protect her.

_Whatever it takes_, she thought, _just rid me of him_.

After two days of packing and making final arrangements, she was ready to leave. Angela, her best friend, was going to accompany her. In fact, Angela entertained the idea of moving away from Gotham too. As far as Pearl was concerned, Gotham would become ancient history. Once her phone was disconnected (the phone company had assured her it would be done the next day), she would really have no ties to Gotham.

Just before Pearl, Angela and the police escort left the apartment, the phone rang.

"You can leave it," Angela said.

Pearl huffed. "It might be Miss Dawes. I really should buy myself a new cell phone already. Can you wait for me by the car, please?"

Pearl hurried to the phone and picked it up. "Hello?"

Silence. Pearl would have rolled her eyes a while ago, but this time, her heart began to beat wildly. Instinctively, she said, "...Crane?"

Silence, then a familiar chuckle.

Pearl slammed the phone handle down on the cradle. She was shaking all over. She let out a shuddering breath. The phone did not ring again, but it was ringing in her head. She should have plugged it out, she should have, but she forgot, _stupid_.

She left the apartment slowly, unable to walk at a faster pace. She felt like collapsing, almost wanted to collapse and drift away, but nothing happened.

"Is everything alright, ma'am?" the police officer asked and Angela joined him with a worried expression on her face.

Pearl knew she should tell them the truth.

_He called me. He had me know that he'll be breathing down my neck._

But she didn't. Perhaps, she could convince herself that it was just a dream, that the call never happened...

"I'm fine," she lied.

But in truth, she felt as if the beginning of the end had just begun.

**THE END**


End file.
